


Compass (How To Fight For Love)

by SnappleApple11



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Davy Jones - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Excalibur, F/M, Female Friendship, Fighting for love, Flying Dutchman, Ghosts, Not Really Character Death, POV Captain Hook | Killian Jones, POV Emma, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Dark Swan Arc, Redemption, Speculation, True Love, Underworld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnappleApple11/pseuds/SnappleApple11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5b speculation. A now darkness-free Emma must fight for what she really wants, and what she wants is Killian back from the dead. True love has no expiration date and the ghosts of the past have their own agendas too. Mature themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really shouldn’t be starting this right now, not when I have Tattoo to finish (We’re only mostly halfway through that, if I’m being honest…). This idea just wouldn’t leave me alone after I learned 1. they were casting for Hook’s dad and 2. The name of the 100th episode and the theoretical 5b spoilers that come with it. So here’s my inevitably cannon-divergent take on 5b.
> 
> This is going to alternate between Killian’s and Emma’s POV, and the overall writing/update is probably going to be slow as molasses at first (I wanna prioritize Tattoo, but this will still be worked on.) so bear with me and let me know what you think!
> 
> Warnings: This first chapter will deal with a major character ‘death’ as well as depression and anxiety from those still living in the aftermath. Death is in quotes because it’s only the beginning of the story.

Everything hurt. His body, his face, Killian was almost sure that even his hair hurt. Why that was, he couldn’t seem to remember. The last thing he could recall was standing on the deck of the Jolly Roger in anguish amid a rising storm. David and Mary Margaret had been there, and so were Henry, Regina, and Robin. His Swan had been there too.

No, that wasn’t right. Not his Swan. The Dark One was there, the Dark Swan. She had been doing something horrifying and unspeakable, but what was it? Part of Killian warned him he wouldn’t like remembering, so why try to remember at all? He pushed aside that nagging voice, strangely sweet and lulling, and forced himself to remember as much as he could. He remembered the smell and spray of the sea, salty and cool on his face and normally such a comfort to him, but at that moment only leaving him clammy and raw. He remembered screams, his own, he thought. And also running, yes, he had been running toward someone. To Henry? Had the lad been in danger? 

The rolling dread in his stomach told Killian that yes, Henry had been in danger from the Dark Swan. She wanted him to join her, to be a dark one alongside her so they could be together. She wanted to transfer her darkness to Henry through Excalibur. Another wave of pain ripped through Killian as the memory came back into focus, replaying in his mind as if it were one of those moving pictures he’d been shown in Storybrooke. The group of them on his ship, all pleading with the Dark Swan to stop, that there was another way and she could still come back and be Emma despite everything she had done. But she’d told them no, her voice icy and harsh, so unlike the Emma that he loved. She’d told them that it was all for the best. And then she’d raised the re-forged Excalibur high over her head, curved tip practically glowing with power, and brought it down on Henry who lay flat on the deck. 

But she hadn’t struck Henry. Killian remembered that distinctly, the flood of relief that came over him as he realized he’d made it in time, and then the agony in his chest when he realized he’d been struck instead. But that was all right; because Henry the son was safe and that was what Emma Swan the mother would want. Killian wasn’t anyone’s son; he was the expendable one. If anyone were to go, it ought to be him. 

“I love you,” He told Emma, the light fading from his eyes while tears began to fall from hers, color returning to her once pale face and icy blonde hair. 

“Killian,” She whispered in a sob. It was the last thing he heard before the world went almost black. 

Almost being the word of importance. In the last moment before the light of the setting sun faded into a storm Killian swore he saw a flash of green streak across the sky, but his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open and follow the light, and they slid shut. What felt like an instant later, his eyes blew open and he heaved in air desperately, his entire body rolling with pain. There was only sensation and jumbled memories, a mess of disorientation that had Killian feeling like a dying fish on deck. Something hard kicked him in the stomach and Killian twisted in further agony. 

“Got us a lively one, eh?” Someone chortled above him. 

“What’s wrong with ‘im?” Someone else asked. “He don’t look right.”

The world slowly came into focus, revealing the wooden deck of a ship that wasn’t the Jolly Roger beneath him. Killian groaned and flopped onto his back, eyes widening in surprise as he took in the cloudy but day-lit sky above him. It was sunset before, he was certain of that. And if this wasn’t the Jolly Roger, then where the bloody hell was he and how had he gotten here? 

His stomach and heart twisted as a thought came to him. Was he truly dead? Was this the afterlife? 

Several pairs of hands yanked him upright until he was standing and a brief wave of dizziness and nausea came over him. Once he found his feet he angrily shoved off whoever was holding him up, his hook making contact with what felt like someone’s flesh. There were gasps and a pained groan, and Killian glanced around to see a crew of unfamiliar men staring at him in disbelief and fear. More specifically, they were staring at his hook and whispering his moniker in dread. Killian growled in anger at their reaction. It seemed even in the afterlife he was something to be feared. 

His heart twisted again. It felt heavier than before, if that were possible, and colder too, as if an icy blanket were wrapping around him, dulling his senses to the colors of the world, and making him just a bit angry. He lifted his hand to his heart, rubbing it in hopes of alleviating the strange and unwelcome sensations but finding no relief. 

He looked around the ship again, trying to get his bearings. The ragtag and listless crew had stepped away from him, leaving a circle of space between them and Killian, something he certainly didn’t object to. From the way they were all dressed he assumed he was in the Enchanted Forest, or that at least they were from his home realm. If this truly was the afterlife then perhaps his soul had simply been taken to a realm of death associated with his place of birth? Killian frowned at that. Did that mean spirits could cross realms? 

The mystery ship was unfortunately larger than the Jolly, with masts that made the tallest trees feel small and several cannons on deck that had Killian questioning how the ship could stay afloat under their combined weight. Killian was still dressed in his clothes from Storybrooke, and desperately wishing his talking phone was a cutlass or a gun instead. There would be no fighting his way out of this, and no where to go even if he could fight the crew off. Out at sea in an unknown realm and no way to navigate or sail through possibly treacherous waters. Such a fight would be truly pointless. And besides, he needed answers. 

“What ship is this?” Killian demanded. Not surprisingly, no one answered him but the murmuring continued. Still a little disoriented and more than a little angry Killian addressed the crew again in the same booming voice that once held his old crews in check. “You know who I am,” He said, lifting his hook for effect and hating when several of the men flinched backward. “You all know my reputation and you know nothing in the last world or this one will stop me once I’ve set myself to something. Now tell me, what ship is this and why am I here?”

More silence, but this time several of the crew glanced around warily, as if they were expecting someone or something to show up. Fine. He’d make an example of one of them. Hook reached for a crewman, hauling the man forward by the collar and holding his hook under the man’s throat. “I’ll ask again, what ship is this and why am I here?” He let the tip of his hook scratch at the man’s throat and was surprised to find that while the man flinched in pain, no blood came from the wound. 

Of course. He couldn’t kill what was already dead, but apparently he could make them suffer if need be. 

Killian was ready to dig the hook just a little deeper into the man’s neck in his search for answers, the darkness around his heart egging him on, when the distinctive thumps of heavy footsteps on deck halted him. The steps grew closer and the eyes of the remaining crew widened in fear. All of the men lowered their eyes and stepped back. The man in Killian’s hold also tried to lower his eyes, inadvertently pushing the hook a little deeper into his neck. Killian let him go, wondering who was so terrifying that a man would forget he had a hook to his neck. Was the approaching man the captain, or some kind of demon? The answer came when the owner of the thumping boots came to a stop several feet behind Killian, and spoke. 

“It’s about bloody time you showed up. I’ve been waiting nigh on three hundred years for you,” A raspy voice greeted Killian, sending pained shivers down his spine. Three hundred years was a long time, but by a cruel twist of fate Killian had never managed to forget the sound of this man’s voice, of his father’s voice. “Welcome aboard the Flying Dutchman, son.”

-=-/-=-/-=-/-=-/

Time was a pained blur for Emma Swan, who was now newly purged of the darkness as well as a sizable chunk of her humanity. 

Killian Jones was gone. The man she loved was gone and it was her fault. The darkness had well and truly taken hold of her, and she was so far gone that she had tried to turn Henry dark too, thinking it was the only way she could be with her son and for him to forgive what she had done as the Dark Swan. But in the final moment Killian pushed Henry aside and took the blade himself. Emma had felt the darkness seeping out of her, through the sword, and into him. She felt the emptiness and hollow void in her heart begin to consume her as she realized what she had done, and regret crept its way into her psyche for the first time since she had taken on the darkness weeks before. 

“I love you,” He’d whispered, an undying truth in his fading eyes and she could only sob his name once in reply. 

And then he was gone. Literally gone. His body taken in a flash of green light and Emma had been left holding nothing but air as she collapsed onto the deck, sobs wracking her body. Excalibur lay to the side untouched by all, the name Killian Jones adorning its blade. She felt empty. The darkness was definitely gone, but now there was nothing there at all. No light and no dark. Only a black void with the life sucked out of it. 

Emma didn’t remember much after that. There were her parents’ tentative arms around her, and Regina with her arms around a conflicted but uninjured Henry. There were whispered and meaningless words spoken into her ears and hair, and eventually arms pulling her upright and forward to stumble off the ship when the weather began to clear. 

The next time she was aware she was lying in her bed at the loft, blankets pulled up by her head and a plate of once warm grilled cheese and onion rings on the bedside table next to her phone. Emma took one nauseous look at the offerings, rolled over, and went back to sleep. 

When Emma woke a second time the sun was just beginning to peek through the window blinds. She looked over at the table where her phone remained, but the food had been replaced with a once steaming mug of hot chocolate and an unopened bottle of rum. Her thoughts inevitably turned to memories of Killian at the sight and tears sprang to her eyes. Being rid of the darkness was supposed to make things better, not lead to even more misery. Her throat was too raw to cry anymore so she let the tears fall silently, and let herself stare at the bottle and the mug in punishment. 

Hours passed and the waves of guilt and loneliness and shame washed over her, drowning her in further agony. Drowning in agony, now there was a thought. Maybe Killian had been onto something all those years when he drowned himself in rum. It would definitely help dull the pain, if nothing else. Emma reached for the bottle, but hesitated. Somehow the thought of drinking generic, store bought rum unsettled her. Emma managed to snort at the realization that maybe Killian had been able to change her taste in booze after all. Actually, he would probably call it ‘refining’ her taste…

Thinking of him started up a fresh round of tears. She needed to see him, or at least something of his. She couldn’t mourn or even bury Killian’s actual body so drowning herself in his personal cache of rum would have to do, and that meant leaving the loft for his ship. 

Emma’s wrist began to flick out of habit; ready to magic herself to the Jolly Roger, but her other hand grabbed it in a death grip. No, she couldn’t use magic. It was too dangerous. What if she used dark magic by accident? Magic had done enough to hurt the people she loved, she couldn’t risk using it again, not until she knew it was safe to do so. She would just have to find the energy to walk instead. 

She struggled to sit upright, the world spinning for only a moment before righting itself. Pulling herself from the bed to stand, the floorboards creaked under her feet, echoing too loudly and she flinched, hoping no one heard her. The last thing she wanted right then was to see anyone or to have anyone see her. When silence met her ears, she moved again. Emma managed to sneak out of the loft unnoticed, most likely because it was now the middle of the night and everyone was likely asleep. It made moving around the town easier too, easier to avoid people and hide away in the shadows when the occasional townsperson waltzed by unknowingly. 

A small part of Emma’s mind recalled sneaking around like that with Killian while they were searching for Henry in Neverland, days and nights spent in a treacherous jungle with an impish demon out for blood. Killian had been the one to bring them there and home…

Reaching the docks, a chilled Emma approached the Jolly Roger with movements that were sluggish and uncoordinated, her energy sapped from just a simple walk. She was forced to steady herself with her hands on the ships rails and various crates and barrels, but otherwise managed to make her way down the ladder and into the captain’s cabin. Emma stepped off the ladder and was assaulted by the memory of Killian’s presence in the small room. The scent of him, leather and sea and musk, permeated the very air and Emma had a hard time not breathing in shallow gasps as she took in the state of the room. There was his desk, clean of loose papers but not the ink stains that bled into the wood from centuries of recordings. The shelves were full of stolen goods from countless realms and encounters, jewels and books, maps and journals. There was even the compass from their adventure up the beanstalk, lying innocently next to a half empty bottle of rum. 

She recalled their teamwork and the deal he’d tried to offer her to align against Cora. She also recalled the betrayal in his eyes when she’d handcuffed him to the rubble. 

Emma took hold of the compass with one shaky hand, fingers caressing the edges and tracing nonsense on its face. She reached for a chair, wanting to sit down, but instead of meeting wood her fingers met soft leather. It was his old jacket, the long overcoat that only he could look good in. With tentative fingers she pulled the jacket from the back of the chair, bringing it close to her face and breathing in Killian’s lingering scent from the material. Pain washed over her once again and, deciding being in his cabin was too much too soon, she shot out her other hand for the bottle and took all three items with her while she scrambled back up the ladder and onto the deck. The late night was cool and even though the earlier storm had long since cleared there was still a chilled breeze in the air. Emma shivered and pulled Killian’s overcoat over her shoulders, fighting back another sob as his scent reached her nose again. She collapsed in front of a barrel with a view of the east, and pulled several throat-fuls of rum down her throat, the liquid warming her and burning blessedly down the sensitive flesh, giving her another pain to focus on. 

Another memory came to her, this one of the two of them in front of Granny’s, recently back from their foray into the past. He had just told her how he traded the Jolly Roger for the magic bean to get to her in New York. 

“You traded your ship for me?” She had asked, and when he’d answered ‘aye’, she kissed him in admiration for his resolve, and in apology for his sacrifice, and in love for the incredible man he was. 

Emma stayed out on the deck for hours, drinking and remembering and watching the stars twinkle above as their light broke through the fading clouds. Eventually the light of the stars began to fade, and Emma’s view was replaced with the rays of the sun fighting to brighten the dark sky. Her thoughts turned to the stories Killian had told her, the little snippets and tales that made their way into their talks. 

She recalled the morning they shared a sunrise on the deck of the Jolly Roger months before, coffees in hand and wrapped up in each other’s arms. Killian had told her tales of sea monsters and ghost ships, those he’d somehow participated in getting extra embellishment, much to Emma’s delight. And then the sun had begun to break the night, rays of pink outshining the stars, and Killian had pointed to the horizon and told her to look for a green flash. 

“It means the Flying Dutchman has just passed from the world of the living to the realm of the dead,” He’d explained, voice catching in mock suspense. “The Dutchman carries the souls of those lost at sea to the afterlife. Seeing the green flash is supposed to be an omen. Not that I’ve managed to see it.”

“Three hundred years on the water and there’s something you haven’t seen? I don’t buy it,” Emma had chuckled at the time, laughing at the false severity of his words. 

Now she just wished she could hear his voice again. Talk with him again. But that was impossible. Now she could only remember him and his words. 

Emma let her mind mull over everything Killian had ever told her, from the flirty and overtly sexual to the hopeful and inspiring. She tried to recall the exact inflection with which he had said it, the exact color of his eyes, and the curve of his lips as they had formed the words. And most of all, she tried to recall each of his feelings behind the words. 

“I was hoping it’d be you.” A little lascivious but otherwise open. 

“I’ve yet to see you fail.” Genuinely honest with a touch of encouragement. 

“Perhaps there’s another attachment you’d prefer?” Flirty and evasive, and trying to get a rise out of her. 

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.” Determined, resolute, and believing. 

A spark lit in Emma at that last memory, and at all the memories of the two of them together. She remembered the beanstalk, Killian’s vengeful arrival in Storybrooke, and their time in Neverland. Fighting Zelena and the Snow Queen and all of the villains that came after them. She remembered doing it all with him, together, and how he always encouraged and believed in her. If he were here with her now he would put his arm around her and remind her what she was capable of, and that nothing was impossible for her or them. She just had to have hope. 

He would also remind her to not waste the quiet moments, so as the sun finally began to rise in earnest Emma stood up on shaky legs and leaned against the railing for a better view. She was just in time to see the fiery sphere briefly overtaken by a flash of green light.

A flash of green… Emma’s mouth fell open in realization and awe, and the rum in her hand dropped to the deck. It was the exact same flash of green that had taken Killian only the day before. The only difference between now and yesterday was that now she remembered where she had heard about that flash. Killian had told her about it. It had to be a sign. It had to be him. Killian was aboard the Flying Dutchman and probably being taken to the afterlife. 

Her heart pounded and her mind raced. Emma remembered every time Killian had fought for her, everything he had sacrificed for her, and it broke her heart again. How could she have been so selfish toward the man she loved? Her fears and insecurities had put everyone in danger, Killian had paid the ultimate price for it, and she was left clutching a few precious pieces of him to her in the aftermath. But now she had hope, she had a flash of green to keep her going. Killian Jones had crossed realms for her, gone to the ends of the world and time for her; it was about time she fought for him, death be damned. 

Feeling just a little stronger than before, Emma pushed back from the railing and pulled Killian’s jacket tighter to her. She put the compass in her pocket and ran off the Jolly Roger, making her way back toward town, decision made. She was going to bring Killian Jones back from the dead, and to do that she was going to need some help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already blown away by the response to this story! Thanks for the support!

“Emma? What the hell are you doing out here? It’s barely past dawn. And why are you in flannels and Hook’s old coat?” Regina’s disbelief was overshadowed only by her fear that something else had happened, Emma could see that clearly in the other woman’s face, but she didn’t have time to ease any worries. Killian was in danger and she needed him back. 

“It’s Killian! He’s still out there!” Emma’s cries were breathless as she heaved air into her desperate lungs. Running from the docks to Regina’s house was, in hindsight, not the smartest move after being bedridden for a little over a day, but time was probably of the essence and Emma wasn’t going to waste any more of it.

Regina’s expression immediately softened into one of pity and condolence at Emma’s distress. “Oh, Emma… This can’t be easy but he’s gone and you have to-”

“You have to listen to me Regina! This is serious. I can still save Killian,” Emma tried to explain, failing spectacularly. She could see the words of rejection and condolence on Regina’s lips and Emma spoke up before she could be interrupted. “You put a preservation spell on Daniel, and you fought like hell to bring him back! Don’t you fucking dare take this from me or tell me not to fight for him!” It was a low blow, Emma knew, but one she thought needed to be played to make her point. “Killian’s not even gone yet, he’s just, I don’t know, in transit or whatever you want to call it. But I can bring him back!”

Regina took an unsteady step forward out her front door, the unevenness of her movement the only sign Emma’s words about Daniel had landed. She laid a soothing hand on each of Emma’s shoulders, trying to calm her with soft words. “Emma, I’m telling you this as your friend, so please listen to me. Killian Jones is gone. He can’t come back. Now please, let me call Mary Margaret and David and they can-”

“No!” Emma shoved Regina’s hands aside, startling the other woman. One hand flew to the ring around her neck, the ring Killian had given her a lifetime ago, and she drew strength from it. “You have to believe me! It’s the Dutchman! Killian’s on the Flying Dutchman and I need to go after him!” Emma knew how she sounded in that moment, knew how insane she probably seemed. Regina probably thought she had turned into a full on basket case since having the darkness expelled from her only a day or so before, but Emma didn’t care. She needed Regina to see what she saw, to believe in her. “This morning I was on the Jolly Roger and I saw a green flash at dawn. It’s the sign of the Flying Dutchman taking a soul to the afterlife. Killian said so himself!” 

“Emma…”

Emma pushed forward. “And when Killian was taken there was a flash of green light and his body went missing right from the deck! You have to remember seeing that! Why would his body just disappear like that unless he’d been deliberately taken?”

“You disappeared after taking in the darkness all those weeks ago, to the forest outside Camelot. Or do you not remember that?” Regina snapped back, losing patience with Emma’s feverish ravings. 

Inspiration suddenly hit Emma and hope raced through her, lighting her with a fiery passion. “The dagger,” She realized. “I mean, the sword, Excalibur, it had my name on it until the other day, right? It doesn’t anymore!”

“Because you’re not the Dark One anymore,” Regina said, her dark eyes narrowed worriedly. “What about it?” 

“Back with the sword, when I… Um…” Emma struggled to speak, her prior zeal stopping cold in memory. Just thinking about what had happened on the ship only a day before, between her and Henry and Killian, it was already too much. Actively saying it out loud, acknowledging what she had done and the consequences of it, was painful beyond compare. “When I tried to put the sword through Henry and it went through Killian instead… The whole point was to make Henry dark too, so we could be together,” She managed to mumble, not daring to meet Regina’s likely furious and well-placed glare. “But instead of just part of the darkness it felt like all of the darkness was being pulled out of me and into the sword. And it didn’t stay in the sword. It kept going and I think it all ended up in Killian. I think he’s technically the new Dark One.”

Emma swore she saw Regina shiver a little, but that may have been the chill in the early morning air. “I’m not sure I see where you’re going with this, with a connection between the darkness and the Flying Dutchman…” Regina admitted. 

Emma’s zeal came back in a flash and she cried out. “Dark One’s are immortal! They can’t die! If Killian’s the new Dark One then he’s not dead and I can find him and save him! We have Excalibur now, and it has Killian’s name on it! Merlin told us how to use the sword properly back in Camelot. We can find Killian on the Flying Dutchman and pull the darkness from him and bring him home!” Emma knew her eyes were wide and crazed, face tear streaked and full of unaccepted grief. Killian would have probably compared the overall effect to a siren gone mad. Emma shivered at that. Even the thought of Killian’s less than happy hypothetical thoughts were enough to set her on edge. 

“Even if he did turn into the new Dark One… I’m sorry but who’s to say he’s even alive? You stabbed him in the heart, Emma, with the very blade that can kill a Dark One. That’s not a wound someone can just walk away from,” Regina tried to tell her. 

“Show me Excalibur,” Emma insisted, eyes diamond hard and resolute. “I need the sword. I know you hid it somewhere protected. Show me the sword and I’ll show you Killian’s name is still on it. He’s the new Dark One but he’s still alive.”

Regina looked at her steadily for several moments, deep in thought and arms crossed in worry and chill. “If this will give you closure,” She heard Regina mutter with a sigh. “Fine, we’ll look at the sword, but I’m still calling your parents and I’m still not buying the whole Flying Dutchman theory yet.” 

“Thank you!” Emma breathed in relief, clutching Killian’s long overcoat tighter around her and the ring harder in her fist. “Thank you, thank you.” 

Regina walked back into her house briefly to grab her cell phone and jacket, and Emma waited anxiously for her, fidgeting on the front step the entire time. The process took several minutes longer than it should have so she assumed that Regina had taken the time to also tell Robin or Henry where she was going. Emma cast a wary and longing glance at the window to Henry’s room, but saw no movement. 

The half-run, half-walk to Regina’s vault was quiet and tense. Emma felt Regina’s eyes on her the entire way, a narrowed and suspicious glare mixed together with sympathy and worry. She tried not to let it bother her, but the distrust and pity stung, even if it was well earned. After everything she had done in the past few months as the Dark One it was only fair that she have to re-earn the trust of everyone in her life. And Emma had every intention of doing that, no matter how long it took to rebuild that trust. But right now she had her priorities, and that meant finding Killian first. 

“Is there a reason we’re essentially running instead of just using magic to transport ourselves to my vault?” Regina questioned, a little breathless from the quick pace Emma was setting. 

“I’m not using magic,” Emma answered, adamant. “Magic has brought me nothing but pain. I won’t use it if that’s all it’ll ever do.”

Regina watched her for a moment. “I understand you not wanting to use magic, but what if I bring us to the vault? Not that I don’t appreciate our chats but a pre-dawn jog wasn’t what I had in mind this morning, and if you’re trying to move this quickly then time is probably something to consider, right?” 

Emma stopped short and turned to Regina, who stared at her with the insistent eyes of a mother reprimanding her child for missing something obvious. Emma bit her lip nervously. Already her imagination was moving at lightning speed envisioning every worst-case scenario of even being near magic, and she did her best to force those thoughts aside. She wouldn’t go dark side again just because Regina was using magic. Emma would be fine. 

Emma closed her eyes and nodded at Regina, who raised her hand in a practiced flick of her wrist. A whirl of smoke engulfed them and Emma fought back the panic and déjà vu of the same cloud transporting her places as the Dark One. When she opened her eyes again she saw the outside of Regina’s vault. She tightened her grip on Killian’s jacket, running forward and colliding with the sealed stone door. She turned back to Regina quickly, silently willing her to hurry. Regina seemed to understand her haste and opened the doors, leading the way down the stairs and into the chilled vault. As they passed beneath one archway Regina cast a wary glance at Emma, as if she were expecting something to happen, but nothing did, and Emma’s impatience bled through to annoyance. 

“What?” She demanded. 

“Nothing,” Regina replied, surprised eyes glancing over Emma in perusal. “Nothing at all…” 

Emma didn’t have much time for confusion before Regina stopped in front of a nondescript stone in the floor. She knelt in front of it and looked up at Emma expectantly. “Help me move the stone,” She asked.

“No!” Emma’s eyes blew open in outrage and fear. “I told you I’m not using magic!”

“You can’t use magic anyway,” Regina interrupted. A chill ran through Emma at her words and she flinched. Regina rolled her eyes and clarified, “It’s warded against magic. You have to physically pull the stone away. Now are you going to help or just stand there scared?”

Emma let out an unsteady breath and knelt too. Her fingers could barely find an edge along the corners of the stone, but together she and Regina managed to lift the heavy slab and move it to one side, revealing a shallow but empty hole. Emma’s heart pounded as she stared into the dark abyss, fear gripping her.

Where was the sword? Where was Excalibur? 

Her breathing quickened and hope fled from her heart, leaving Emma cold and fearful. No, no, no… She needed the sword. She would never get Killian back without it, so where the hell was it?

Regina watched closely as Emma stood up in a flash, the world tilting to one side for a moment before she righted herself and started moving to the doorway they came through. Excalibur wasn’t there. She had to find it, and that meant leaving the damn vault. It was the only way to prove Killian was alive. Emma took several steps away from the hopeless pit and toward the door, her thoughts a chaotic storm of rage and fear and grief, but she was stopped short and forced back. She looked up and saw nothing, but when Emma raised her hand in front of her she felt it, an invisible barrier blocking her path. 

“You can’t leave, Emma.” Regina’s voice was deathly calm from the other side of the stone room and Emma whirled on her friend in anger.

“Regina, what the hell?! Where’s the sword? I need it!” Emma turned back to the invisible wall blocking her path, uselessly pounding her fists against it. 

Regina stood slowly and kept her distance as she addressed Emma. “Emma, do you want the sword?”

“Don’t screw around Regina! Just tell me where it is!” She demanded. 

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Answer me, do you want the sword or not?”

“The fuck? The sword isn’t the point! The point is Killian!” Emma cried, her anger giving way to sobs of desperation. 

“Then why do you need it? Tell me why you need Excalibur,” Regina urged. 

Emma fought back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes but her voice was already well on it’s way to breaking. “Because I know his name is on that sword and if you could just see it then you’d believe me! He’s still out there and I can save him! I have to save him and I need that sword to make you believe me!”

“Why do you need me to believe you, Emma? Why not just do it all yourself?”

“I can’t,” Emma sobbed.

Regina’s voice was insistent. “You can’t what? Talk to me, Emma. Say it! You have to say it!”

“I-I can’t do this alone,” Emma finally revealed, sinking to her knees and clutching the leather coat around her like a shield. “I can’t. I was alone for so long but I found my family here and now they’re gone. I killed the man I love and I pushed everyone else away. I don’t want to be alone again; I can’t go back to that. Please, don’t make me go back to that.” 

Emma’s choked sobs were the only sound in the room until Regina’s quiet footfalls joined in. Emma barely noticed Regina approaching her until the other woman knelt down beside her and pulled her close in a hug. Emma willingly ducked her head into the other woman’s shoulder and shook. They were both quiet for several moments before Regina spoke up, her voice apologetic and soft. 

“I’m sorry I made you go through that,” Regina quietly apologized. “I needed to be sure you were really you and not… ‘Other’ you.”

“Regina…” Emma’s voice was still choked and broken. 

“It’s a special protection and cloaking spell I developed,” Regina explained, quickly trying to move past the emotional moment. “I got the idea from Mary Margaret’s explanation of echo cave back in Neverland.”

“Her explanation? What was there to explain? We told secrets that were supposed to tear us all apart,” Emma spat out tiredly, emotionally drained. 

“And they were all things that helped you and everyone else move forward once they were said,” Regina insisted quietly. “Take another look in the hole.”

Emma stared at her in nervous confusion but soon moved toward the empty hole in the floor. When she reached it, her breath caught in her throat. Lying at the bottom of the hole was Excalibur, wrapped carefully in a velvety cloth and looking as though it had always been there. She turned to Regina, panic creeping into her psyche at the sight of the sword that had caused so much trouble and pain. 

“Go ahead,” Regina urged her. “It can’t hurt you if you don’t let it.”

Emma reached down with slow and unsteady hands until she met the cloth-covered blade. Her fingers refused to grasp the sword, and could only twitch helplessly against it for several moments before her mind finally took control and she held the sword in both hands. The weapon still felt too powerful, and far too dangerous. It tempted Emma’s thoughts with whispers of nothing and her hands shook horribly as she pulled the blade from the hole. Once it was free of it’s prison, Emma tossed it to the ground between her and Regina and scooted away as if she had been burned. Her hand flew to the ring on her necklace and she let the memories it brought forth flood her with relief. 

Regina moved forward and reached for the sword, but Emma moved faster, eager to peel back the layers and prove to Regina that she was right and Killian was alive. Emma’s hands trembled as she pulled aside the cloth and then removed the weapon from its sheath to lay it between them. She let her eyes roam quickly over the glistening metal of the sword, taking in the intricate patterns etched into the curved tip and the deadly sharp edges that had struck down countless people throughout the centuries. 

A crazed and hopeful smile spread across Emma’s face as she took in the newest addition to the sword, the newly etched name emblazoned on the end. “You see? I told you! Killian’s name is on the sword so he’s the new Dark One! He can’t be dead!” The words were as much to show up Regina, as they were to restore hope in Emma’s heart, and so far they were working. 

“How is that possible,” Regina said under her breath, eyes running over the letters. “How can he have survived taking Excalibur to the heart? And why wouldn’t the darkness just stay contained to the sword? It doesn’t make any sense.” 

“It doesn’t matter how! The point is he’s alive and I can save him! I’m not letting him go without a fight!” Emma exclaimed, fingers pointing excitedly at the letters. “Maybe we can use this to track him to the Flying Dutchman, like a reverse tracking beacon or something? Or we could use a piece of the Jolly Roger or-”

“Emma, breathe.” Regina’s interruption couldn’t stop Emma’s renewed hope, but it did quiet her for a heartbeat. “The darkness being inside Hook is one thing, we have evidence for that, but the Flying Dutchman is a fairytale even in our world. We have no proof that he’s there. For all we know he’s been taken to the same forest outside of Camelot that you were and it just so happened to be a green light that did it instead of a tornado of smoke.”

“I know it’s the Dutchman, Regina. I know what I saw and I know what Killian told me.” Emma couldn’t let herself start to doubt now, not when she had Regina’s help and could actually start to find a way to Killian. 

Regina heaved a sigh. “Wherever he is, Dutchman or not, we’ll still need a way to track him and get to him. Let’s go, your parents should be outside waiting for us by now.” She collected the sword and it’s coverings and stood up smoothly, waiting for Emma to stand on shaky legs before making her way toward the door. 

Emma stopped short of the door, remembering the barrier that stopped her before. Regina raised an eyebrow at her hesitance. “It’s fine, you made it through the cloaking spell to Excalibur. You should be able to walk through the doorway now.”

Emma’s fingers traced over the ring again and she steeled herself, moving forward through the door and up the stairs behind Regina. Her shoulders dropped in relief when nothing stopped her this time, and her breathing eased as they both made their way out of the vault and into the early morning air where her parents were waiting. 

“Emma!” Mary Margaret’s concerned voice called out. She raced forward toward her daughter, followed closely by David, and pulled her into an embrace. “We were so scared something had happened! Are you ok?”

David had one arm tucked around his wife and daughter and the other hand curled behind Emma’s head. “Is that Hook’s old coat? Were you on his ship? Emma, if you had only told us then we could have… We thought we’d lost you again, that we’d failed you again.” His words ended in a pained whisper but Emma heard every bit, guilt pouring into her once more at the pain she caused, however unintentional this time. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma stammered into her parent’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She repeated her apologies over and over, hoping they would stick. 

Meanwhile, Regina had set to reexamining the sword, a quizzical expression coming over her. “Wait a minute…” Regina approached them with the sword, her eyes still glued to the blade. “Look at this.”

Emma only barely pulled away from her parents’ embrace to look at the sword, but what she saw had her pulling away entirely and reaching to hold the blade, fear and confusion overcoming her. Killian’s name was still on the blade, but all of the letters appeared and disappeared in uneven intervals, etching and fading from the metal intermittently. 

“His is name is disappearing. What the hell does that mean? Regina?” Emma looked to her friend for an answer, but was met with a mirror image of her own confusion.

“I don’t know, but it can’t be good. I’m calling Belle and Gold too,” Regina decided, phone already in hand and fingers flying over the digits. 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret approached her daughter, slowly placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hook’s name is on the sword, does that mean he’s…”

“The new Dark One, yeah. And Dark One’s are immortal so Killian can’t be dead; he’s just been taken somewhere like I was. So I can save him and bring him back.” Emma knew her voice was growing desperate again, but saying everything out loud made it real. And if there were a chance for Killian to be alive, then she would sing it from the damn clock tower if that made it real enough to save him. 

“So he’s really alive… Do you think he was taken to Camelot’s forest too?” Mary Margaret asked. “Maybe we could use the apprentice’s wand to take us there again?”

“No, he’s on the Flying Dutchman,” Emma insisted.

David looked crestfallen at the mention of the ship. He must not have believed in the legend of the Flying Dutchman either. “Emma, the Dutchman isn’t real. What if Hook-”

“It’s real!” Emma whirled on her father. “I know you saw the green flash before and I know I saw it again this morning! Killian’s alive because he became the new Dark One and Dark One’s can’t die!”

“Dark One’s may not be able to die easily, but it would seem that wherever Hook is, he’s in danger,” Regina informed them all, shoving her cell phone into her pocket as she rejoined the group. “Belle said that when Gold was still the Dark One and dying his name started to disappear from the dagger one letter at a time. But there was never any reappearance of those letters once they vanished and they certainly didn’t fade all at once. Belle wants us to bring the sword to the shop so she and Gold can have a look.” 

“Sounds like a plan!” Mary Margaret chimed in. “I’m sure Granny can watch Neal for a little longer and no matter where Killian is, Dutchman or Camelot or somewhere else, we’ll need to figure out what’s going on with the sword anyway, right?”

“Right,” David agreed. 

“Well, let’s go then,” Emma said, already walking away from the vault with the sword in hand. 

It honestly infuriated Emma that David didn’t believe her about the Flying Dutchman, or that no one seemed to believe her about the ship’s existence. But at the very least they believed her when she showed them the evidence that Killian was still alive. She had their support in that, if nothing else. 

She didn’t check to see if anyone was following her, only raced through the town and toward the antiques shop clutching the sword to her chest. When the old shop came into view she broke into a run and burst through the front door, the bell over the frame nearly flying off from the force of her entrance. 

Gold was there to greet her from behind the counter. He was still clearly wary of her presence and did a terrible job of hiding the tense line of his shoulders, but his willingness to step out to see Emma first and alone was a credit to how far he was coming in his ongoing efforts toward heroism. “Ah, Miss Swan, lovely of you to drop by-”

“Shove it, and just tell me what this means,” Emma snapped, tossing Excalibur unceremoniously onto the glass countertop and pointing furiously at the still fading and reappearing letters of Killian’s name. 

Gold flinched but recovered quickly. “Hostile this morning, aren’t we?”

“I’m not the Dark One any more and neither are you, but you still know more about being the Dark One than anyone else in this town. So tell me what you know, now,” Emma seethed, fingers clenched into fists and eyes blazing. 

Belle was quick to come racing out of the back room with several books already in hand. She dropped them next to the sword and put a hand on top of her husband’s. Gold’s posture immediately straightened and Emma could practically see his resolve building again at Belle’s nearness. The sight made Emma ache even more to see Killian again. 

“Killian’s name really is on the sword,” Belle started, half in awe. “So he’s alive, and he’s the Dark One now.” 

Emma silently thanked Belle’s quickness; glad she wouldn’t have to spell it all out once again. Regina, David, and Mary Margaret entered the shop moments later, breathless and apologetic for the early morning arrival. 

“Belle, what I told you on the phone… Do you two have any idea what’s going on with the sword?” Regina asked. 

“I have a few ideas, and I grabbed a couple of books that might help,” Belle started, gesturing to the small pile next to her on the counter. “We know a lot about how the Dark One dagger works, but now that Excalibur is whole again, that just brings in even more things to consider. This could change everything we know about it.”

“More things are probably the same than they are different, but Belle’s right, Excalibur being whole again could have changed the important things,” Gold admitted, although he sounded less confident than Emma was used to hearing him when he talked about magic. Belle squeezed his hand in reassurance. “Perhaps if we start with what we know for certain it will help us understand more about the sword and the condition of our missing pirate?”

“We know Killian’s the new Dark One,” Mary Margaret supplied. “His name is on the sword and that’s where Dark One’s names go. And we know that Dark One’s are essentially immortal so he’s probably alive too, wherever he is.” 

David chimed in next. “Which also means that Emma really is free of the Dark One’s curse.” He shot Emma a hopeful look that she tried and failed to return. “The curse hasn’t come back in Gold after all this time, and so far as we knew before, the only way to end the curse was death. Now Gold can’t use dark magic, so neither can Emma.”

Emma didn’t miss the way Regina’s eyes narrowed and flitted between her and Gold. Whatever she was thinking, Emma knew better than to push before she had sorted her thoughts out. 

“We know Killian was taken on the Flying Dutchman,” Emma added, not letting the groans and disbelief of her parents or Regina stop her from sharing what she knew in her heart to be true. 

To her great relief, Belle and Gold didn’t look at her with the same skepticism. They looked at her in genuine, if confused, curiosity; as if she had just told them that two plus two was fish and simply wanted to know how she had come to such a wild conclusion. “And how do you know that, Miss Swan?” Gold asked. 

Emma pulled the leather coat tighter around her in defense. “The green flash. When Killian’s body went missing off the deck of the Jolly Roger it was right after a green flash of light at sunset. And this morning at dawn there was another flash of green on the horizon over the ocean. Killian told me once that it was the sign of the Flying Dutchman transporting a soul to the afterlife.”

“His body was taken too?” Gold asked, incredulous. “And here I thought I just missed the funeral.”

Emma scowled at the man, who flinched only slightly under her gaze. Gold no longer being the Dark One didn’t change the long and hard history between him and Killian. 

“But the Dutchman is just a legend, it’s not real,” David insisted, shaking his head. 

Belle coughed lightly, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Actually, there are stories from nearly from every realm of people tasked with the job of ferrying souls to the afterlife,” She started to explain. “The Valkyries of Norse myth, Chiron on the river Sytx. Regina, you remember when Robin’s soul was being taken from him a few weeks ago? You mentioned seeing a hooded figure in a boat that had come for him. Those stories exist in every realm I’ve studied, and we’ve seen first hand that the reapers of the afterlife can also collect someone in this realm. Maybe it’s not too much of a stretch to think the Flying Dutchman is real too, or at least some variant of it?”

Gold nodded in agreement. “Belle’s right. The Dutchman may be a legend, but that’s no reason it can’t be real. If we combine those two elements, the immortality of the Dark One and the supposed occupation of the Flying Dutchman as a carrier of the dead…”

Belle’s face brightened in excitement and realization. “Oh! They’re contradictory! You can’t be immortal and go to the afterlife at the same time! That must by why Killian’s name is flickering like that. Excalibur knows he’s alive but it also thinks he’s somewhere dead.”

“He’s alive, but he’s gone somewhere he shouldn’t have,” Gold concluded. “The Flying Dutchman en route to the afterlife.”

The realization sank in and silence filled the room. Shock was painted on the faces of her parents and Regina, but all Emma could feel in that moment was relief. Relief that they now knew what she knew, and that she wouldn’t have to face it alone. 

“So about this ship, the Flying Dutchman,” David asked, recovering first. “Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, this is NOT SwanQueen. This is most definitely a Captain Swan fic. I just think the friendship between Emma and Regina is vital for both of their characters and it made the most sense to me to have Regina be the first person Emma went to for help in this story. 
> 
> Reviews feed the muse (Can we pretend that rhymes? ‘Cause it kinda does in my head…)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. I plotted out this fic BEFORE all the big reveals about why Emma gave in to the darkness and the whole Dark Hook reveal so just assume that from here on out it’s gonna be cannon-divergent (That being said, I may or may not throw some cannon elements into this story, but we’ll see.). Just a head’s up. 
> 
> P.S. Thanks again for all the kind words! Your reviews and comments, however short or inconsequential you may think they are, are probably the greatest motivators for me to keep writing! Thanks again!

Standing in the captain’s cabin of the Flying Dutchman was doing nothing but make Killian ill. It was almost like being sea sick, the rolling of his stomach just as nauseating, but Killian was certain that he hadn’t felt such a thing in centuries. No, the source of his sickness was sitting in a chair and staring him up and down in gleeful and disbelieving awe. 

Davy Jones still looked every inch the weathered seaman. His large frame filled the room like a silent specter even while seated and his wind-beaten face was more wrinkled and creased than Killian remembered. The dark curls on his head, the same as Liam’s, had turned wiry and thin from years at sea, and were peppered with wisps of gray. He still stank of drink and there was a damning redness to his eyes, but his movements didn’t seem drunk nor was his speech obviously slurred. There was a forced functionality to Davy’s movements that Killian recognized all too well from nights he had crawled into a bottle himself. 

Perhaps this was not actually the Flying Dutchman then, but a variant of Tartarus? Meeting Davy Jones again could only be punishment for centuries of villainy. If Killian were lucky the punitive sentence would be shortened given how he had tried to live the last few years of his life since meeting Emma Swan and her family, but perhaps even that was a fool’s hope. 

“They called me a fool for waiting for you,” Davy noted in maniacal glee, not even addressing his son but thinking out loud. “Told me you was long dead, somewhere on land, but I said, I said! I knew in my gut you’d do proper by your family and die at sea! And ‘ere you are!” 

Killian silently refused to talk with the bastard. This was the man who abandoned his family only to return after Liam had gone into the navy and their mother had passed. This was the man who dragged a young Killian between ships and pubs and kingdoms, throwing their ill gotten money away on drink and eventually leaving his son hungry and alone altogether. As far as Killian was concerned, Davy Jones had failed his family, and no amount of joy in the man’s face would change how Killian felt about the bastard who sired him. 

“All that’s left is to find Liam on the riverbanks, then we’ll be a proper family again,” Davy muttered, sounding absolutely sure of himself. “Liam died on land. That’s the only reason I never saw ‘im at sea, but I’ve got you now and I’ll see Liam soon too.” 

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Killian seethed. “You’re not fit to speak it.” 

But Davy didn’t listen to his son’s outburst, only further lamented on the imagined fate of his eldest son. “Joneses are meant for the sea, meant to live at sea and die in her embrace. To die ashore like some landlubber… Poor lad’s soul must be lost, wandering the shores of Styx all this time. I’ll save his soul yet…”

Confusion filled Killian, along with a growing dread that Davy was well and truly mad. “The bloody hell are you on about? Liam died at sea. I gave his body to the waves myself.” Killian was proud that his voice kept steady, but it didn’t stop the clenching of his heart as he remembered the brief funeral he’d given his brother before turning pirate. 

Davy Jones’ expression looked broken when Killian’s interruption finally registered, and he stared up at his son as if he were only just seeing him for the first time. “Did he? Impossible, I would’ve saw ‘im… I remember every soul lost to the sea while I’ve been captain,” He muttered, eyes blinking in a daze.

Killian stared at Davy aghast. “You never saw him because he died before you… How the bloody fuck did you outlive your son?” He stammered in horror, his heart clenching into an icy fist. It wasn’t fair. Brave and honorable Liam had died first when his life should have been longest and brightest. The horror twisted into disgust as Killian continued to stare down the man in the chair. How dare such a coward outlive his noble son? How dare he sit there and talk nonsense about saving souls and being a family? Killian’s heart clenched again in further pain, muting him to the world but focusing his anger at the same time. The bastard had lost every right to family when he walked away from them. He didn’t deserve even the hope of seeing Liam again. 

If only there was a more permanent and torturous end for the bastard, a fate worse than death…

“Of course there is, so why haven’t you put him through it yet?” A familiar woman’s voice echoed through the cabin, seductive and low. Killian’s head whipped toward the corner of the room where the source of the voice leaned causally against the cabin wall, dressed in head to toe black leather. Her skin and hair were as pale and cold as ice, and her darkened lips quirked up in a curious sneer. At the sight of her Killian’s blood froze. “It would be the least of what he deserves. Rumplestiltskin was no better, abandoning his young son to a strange realm like a coward.”

“Swan?” He whispered, not acknowledging her words, however much he found himself silently agreeing with them. The figure chuckled darkly and tipped one eyebrow upward. Wrong, not Swan. This was the Dark One still using his Emma’s lovely form. “Why are you here? And how? The darkness was pulled from you, why are you here like this now?” His words were choked and broken. How could he have failed her? Excalibur was supposed to work. The darkness was supposed to be gone. Was this a further vision meant to torment him in the afterlife?

“What’s gotten into you?” Davy accused, confused by Killian’s sudden shift in focus. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not her. Not really,” The Dark Swan told Killian with a casual shrug. 

Killian’s anger came rushing out. “The bloody hell does that mean? Explain yourself!”

“Who’re you shoutin’ at boy? Whose this Swan?” Davy’s mood grew impatient and irate, but Killian barely heeded the rising danger, already too consumed in the impossible sight of the Dark Swan aboard a ship meant for the dead. 

“Don’t call me- You can’t see her? She’s right there!” Killian gestured wildly toward the corner of the room. 

“The bookshelf? Boy, lie down, clearly you’re not in your right mind.” Davy stood and approached him, one meaty hand reaching for Killian’s shoulder, but Killian shoved the hand aside in a flourish. As he did, something fiery and hot and angry burst from him, shooting down his arm and straight into Davy Jones. Davy was sent flying across the room and smashed into the nearby wall. He crumpled to the floor in a heap, the barest of twitches the only sign that he had not died once again. 

It was a sight that greatly pleased a part of Killian he had thought long dead since his days of piracy. But as pleased as that part of him was, the rest of him was properly caught in the moment, shocked at the sudden burst of magic and power he had just released. “Bloody hell… Why did I…?”

“Oh, spare me,” The Dark Swan seethed. “You and I both know that was a love tap compared to what that bastard deserves, and we both know even another death would be too good for him. He really is like Rumplestiltskin, he’s a coward who never should have outlived his more noble son.”

He barely flinched at her harsh words, part of him pleased to hear them said aloud. “But how did I…?”

“You know this one. Just think it through and remember,” She taunted. 

Remembering, or at least trying to decipher the Dark Swan’s meaning, was a great blur, a foggy mess of erased memories and stormy emotions. They swirled through Killian’s mind and he could only pick out a few thoughts at a time with any coherency. There were memories of Storybrooke in the last few weeks, of the Dark Swan’s reign there. 

She tsked in annoyance at him before he could delve too deeply into those thoughts. “I thought you were clever? Those aren’t the memories you should be looking at.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, still unsure how she could know his silent thoughts. 

The Dark Swan rolled her eyes in a movement so like Emma that Killian’s heart ached at the sight. “Go back just a little further. I know she talked to you about it.”

“Swan? In Camelot?” Killian let his thoughts drift to Camelot and the haze of amnesia that accompanied those memories, starting with the earliest memories of their time in the other realm. Finding Emma with the red-haired girl’s heart in her hand, hearing her reasoning for needing to crush it…

(“You don’t understand what’s at stake. If I don’t find Merlin the darkness will destroy all of you.”)

(“She has to die.”)

Those were not Emma’s words. Killian had known that right away, but at the time he thought those were the words of the darkness trying to corrupt her heart. It was more than that. There was something else, something he was just glimpsing. He pushed through the misty haze that tried to hide his memories of Camelot, and tried to remember more of what Emma had told him in her early days as the Dark One. 

(“He’s inside my head. I can’t get him out.”)

(“It’s Rumplestiltskin, or at least something that looks like him. I’ve been seeing him in my head ever since we got here.”)

Killian’s eyes widened and his breath caught as he remembered Emma’s plight in Camelot and her very physical struggle against the darkness. He glanced up at the Dark Swan and saw the recognition flash through her darkened eyes. “You figure it out yet?” She teased him again. 

“Aye, you’re a memory of her, of the Dark Swan,” He answered. Just as Emma was tormented by visions of the crocodile in Camelot so too would Killian be haunted by visions of his love at her darkest. “The last Dark One before me. I’m the Dark One now.”

“Welcome to the club, lover,” She taunted in a voice that set his skin to crawling and anger flaring through him at her words. “I’m not just her memory though, I’m all Dark One’s. And all of us, together, are here to guide you, not that you need much guiding.”

His anger was quickly overshadowed by a much kinder realization, one that lightened his heart and set it to fluttering happily. “If I’m the Dark One then that means the darkness is gone from Emma. She’s finally free,” He said, feeling more at peace in that moment than he had in a long time. If Emma was safe then it didn’t matter what happened to him. Come hell or high water he had promised to keep Emma safe and it seemed in his final moments he had kept his promise. Killian breathed out a sigh of relief at the realization. 

If this was the price for Swan’s freedom, to become the very thing he had sought for so long to destroy, than he was glad to have paid it. He could go to the afterlife in some semblance of peace, perhaps even survive the journey there in close quarters with Davy Jones, especially with his new found magic. 

“About that journey… We’re a little stuck,” The Dark Swan answered his unspoken thoughts. 

“Stuck? What could you possibly mean by that?”

She pushed off the wall and sauntered around the room, eyes glancing with disinterest about the cabin. “You already know this is the Flying Dutchman and you know it’s true purpose.”

“To ferry the souls of the dead lost at sea to the afterlife. I died aboard the Jolly Roger so technically that includes me, does it not?” He asked, confused and watching her warily. 

She nodded in agreement. “Normally it would, but what can the Dark One never do that every other creature alive can?”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh good grief, stop being so dense! You’re better than that!” She complained. “Think it over. You should know this better than anyone. What’s the one thing you searched for all those centuries?”

“The dagger, but what-”

“Not the dagger!” She interrupted, angry and seething and halted in place as she hissed at him. “The dagger was a means to an end. What were you searching for all that time?”

He narrowed his eyes at her in realization. “Vengeance,” Killian answered. “A way to kill the crocodile. The Dark One can’t be killed by conventional means. I needed the Dark One’s dagger to do it.”

The Dark Swan coiled back, seeming pleased with his answer. “Exactly. But the dagger and sword were re-forged and made whole again.”

“Re-forged into Excalibur, I know. It’s the one blade that could kill a Dark One and I was stabbed in the heart with it before any such corruption could take place,” Killian tried to tell her. Emma had stabbed him on the deck of the Jolly Roger and the darkness had seeped from her and into the sword. If the hallucination of the Dark Swan in front of him was to be believed, and he unfortunately suspected she was, then that darkness continued from Excalibur into him instead of staying put inside the sword. 

The Dark Swan shook her head at him. “You were infected by Excalibur and joined the ranks of the Dark Ones in eternal life. You’re immortal now, and cannot journey to the underworld as a spirit.”

“Then why the bloody fuck am I here?” He demanded. “If I’m not dead then how and why am I on this accursed ship?”

She looked at him in thought before glancing briefly toward the still fallen Davy Jones. “Now isn’t that the million dollar question?” She mused. 

Her answer did nothing to satisfy Killian’s questions or quell his rising temper. “But why didn’t it kill me? Excalibur was stabbed through my mortal heart, I still don’t understand why that didn’t end me once and for all.”

“The darkness chose to save you, Killian Jones, as it has always saved you, given you purpose. There is perhaps no one more suited and primed to be the Dark One than you,” She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, a truth as eternal as the ocean, and it pissed Killian off even more. 

“The bloody hell are you on about, you blasted harpy? How could the darkness ‘choose’ me?” He spat at her, the heat and fire rising again from his chest and through his arms, ready to be unleashed onto the manipulative vision should she speak falsely. 

She did not flinch at his insults or his anger. If anything, she expected them and plowed forward with her explanation. “After your brother died did you return to your kingdom to bring your corrupt monarch to justice, an act that would have surely seen you killed for treason? No, you followed the darkness and turned pirate. You survived and your reign of terror brought the kingdom to its knees.” 

“I brought a corrupt monarchy to an end, what does it matter how I did it?” He answered with a roll of his eyes. 

The Dark Swan continued, approaching him where he stood in the middle of the cabin. “As a helpless child you couldn’t save your mother from a horrid marriage but as a ruthless pirate you could take Milah from hers. Your quest to avenge her death kept you alive for centuries thereafter, through trials and tribulations and certain-death encounters. You have always been willing to do whatever it took, no matter the lengths or cost, to get what you wanted, because you know better than most that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. The darkness recognized that in you early on, Killian Jones, and it fought for you.”

Killian stared at the vision in disgust and horror. “Everything I did, every step I ever took in life, you’re saying you lot orchestrated it?” 

“Of course not literally,” The Dark Swan snapped at him. “Those steps were your own. I’m simply saying I’m impressed with them and now I want to help you.”

He narrowed his eyes, rightly suspicious but wrongly intrigued. “Help me how?”

“You’ve spent centuries seeking vengeance but you’ve fought alone. Let the darkness help you, let it be the sword with which you exact your justice. With my help you can do it, you can find justice and peace at long last for your brother, your mother, for everyone who was ever wronged in your life that your mortal self couldn’t save,” She told him, eyes boring into him eagerly. 

Killian found it was easy to let her words sink in, to let them burrow their way under his skin and back into his heart, because she was right, the darkness had always been a part of him. It helped him survive all those years and it could help him finish his revenge at long last. 

He let a malicious grin spread on his face. “Where do you suggest we start?”

The Dark Swan’s answering sneer was a cold smirk of success, all teeth and harsh angles, so unlike his Emma’s soft smiles, a distant part of him remembered. “I think you know exactly where to start.” She pointed toward Davy Jones, who was only just beginning to crawl to his knees. “Take the ship from Davy Jones and it will be yours to command. It’s certainly not as nice as your Jolly Roger but the Flying Dutchman is a ghost ship and ghosts can reach into the dreams of living souls from across the realms. They can even physically jump to those realms when summoned. Use the ship and the spirits on board to hunt down those who wronged you and everyone you cared for.” 

Killian followed her finger to kneeling man, thoughts swirling madly in his head. It was not difficult for him to see that the Dark Swan had a point. Davy Jones did not deserve even the afterlife he had been granted. He did not deserve the sight of Killian or the hope of seeing Liam again. He deserved the fate worse than death that Killian had hoped to give him earlier; the one the Dark Swan claimed was real. Now was the time to see if such a thing truly existed.

Davy had risen to his knees with a hand against the wall by then, and Killian took a few steps toward him. The magic and heated power was already building up in Killian’s arms and he readied his hand to throw a bolt of the energy at the fallen man, his anger and the darkness cackling in mutual excitement. But he did not release the bolt soon enough, and was too late to notice the vial that was hidden in Davy’s hand. In one swift motion Davy quickly unstopped the vial and threw its inky black contents onto Killian’s form. 

“Gah! The bloody hell is that?” Killian cried in surprise, frozen in place and unable to use his new found magic. He watched in rage as Davy rose on drunken legs to stand taller than he should have ever been allowed, his form pulling the air from the cabin. 

“Squid ink.” Davy’s breathless answer was patronizing and tinged with hurt, the sort of tone Killian had heard Robin lecture his son Roland with on the rare occassion he was disappointed with him. It’s presence now confused and angered him. “So you’ve magic now? Is that ‘ow you survived all these years? Through the sickness of bloody sorcery?”

“What did you hear me saying?” Killian asked, suddenly very aware that no matter how much he had heard, Davy could only have heard one half of the conversation Killian had been having with the Dark Swan. 

“I heard enough,” Davy replied, his condescending tone and puffed out chest giving him an air of superiority that infuriated Killian. 

Killian grit his teeth, eyes searching for the Dark Swan but realizing she was nowhere to be seen. “Release me now!”

Davy’s eyes softened into a dazed grin that didn’t match the foggy and reddened glaze of his eyes, and Killian was reminded of the covetous looks Ingrid had once shot Emma and Queen Elsa. He recognized the twisted desire for something lost, the unshakable willingness to sacrifice any and all for an unattainable goal. To be on the receiving end of such a gaze left Killian Jones well and truly terrified. 

“Worry not boy, I’ll have you fixed up and better soon, just you see. We’ll be a proper family again in no time.” Davy picked up a heavy looking tome and walked calmly forward. Frozen in place, Killian was helpless to stop Davy’s arm once it pulled back and flew forward, the oncoming ‘thwack’ of the thick book against his head sending a sharp pain through his skull that was blissfully short-lived as he succumbed to unconsciousness. 

Killian awoke not long after that to the familiar sensation of restraints holding him down and the unfamiliar feeling of what he assumed was dampened magic. His head still hurt from Davy’s previous if brief assault of it, but at least there seemed to be a reasonably comfortable bed beneath him now. Unfortunately, Killian seemed to be incapable of leaving it. He tugged at his restraints several more times, at the knots holding his wrists and ankles and the gag in his mouth. When they did not budge, Killian glanced quickly around his surroundings, and was surprised to find himself still in the captain’s cabin, his hook lying detached on the nearby table. Given his insubordination he would have thought it more likely he would be sent to the brig, son of the bastard captain or not, but it seemed that Davy Jones’ sanity and reasoning were questionable at best when it came to family. That was something Killian could certainly use to his advantage. 

“Oh yes, that will do nicely,” The falsely sweet voice of a woman, someone other than the Dark Swan, sounded from just outside the cabin. The words were barely muted by the thick door and while his brain was having a difficult time placing the woman’s voice right away, familiar as it was, Killian recognized Davy Jones’ voice immediately when it chimed in. 

“And you can help ‘im? Take that magic and those visions of that blasted Swan away? Make ‘im well again?” Davy sounded like he was pleading with the woman, which did not sit well with Killian. In fact, it made him a little sick to his stomach again to hear the man desperate. 

There was a chuckle and then the woman spoke once more. “Fear not Captain Jones, your son will be sound of mind soon, and I’ll have what we agreed to, of course?”

“Of course, the ingredients will be yours. I’ll deliver the rest of them to you meself.”

“Very good. When this is all over you’ll have your sons and I’ll have my daughter again and the power to protect her, just as it should be.”

“Aye, nothing more important than family and what you’re willing to do for ‘em.” A pause, and then Davy Jones spoke again. “I’ll have some men take care of the sword for you. You say it’s in Storybrooke? The land I found my son in?”

“Indeed it is. I admit it will be strange to eventually see it once again, magic boxes and all.” 

Killian’s eyelids were too heavy to keep open for long but his last thoughts as he drifted out of consciousness once again were that he recognized the woman’s voice, and that recognizing it meant trouble was coming not just for him, but for everyone in Storybrooke too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, the answer is yes, there’s a reason I didn’t have Davy Jones add Killian’s mother into his ‘proper family’ vision (And of course I can’t tell you what it is yet!). I’ll admit that writing Davy Jones like this gives me the serious creeps, but it’s also something new I’m trying, so we’ll see how that goes. Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the delay, life caught up with me in a not so pleasant way, but all is on the way to being well. 
> 
> Ok, a couple of quick things. Obviously I’m not going to change papa-Jones’ name in this story from Davy (Since that would essentially change the storyline and whatnot), but I’m also not including the Liam junior aspect (I’m mildly conflicted about the inclusion of that in the show. Unless they want to bring Liam junior back later so he can seek vengeance against Hook and have a weird/awkward family reunion? Idk. There’s a potential show plotline there, for sure. Season 6 material maybe?). For the sake of this story, the last time Killian saw his dad was when he abandoned them to servitude on that ship. 
> 
> Notes over. Read, Review, and share the love.

Reading books in the library was the exact opposite of what Emma Swan had in mind when she envisioned the town coming together to help her find Killian Jones. She wanted tracking spells and setting sail on the Jolly Roger to hunt down the Dutchman. She wanted a looking glass that would show her where Killian was at that exact moment and that he was ok. What Emma wanted was action; tangible proof that whatever she was doing was going to bring Killian back. What she didn’t want, and what was currently setting her on edge, was to sit around in the library reading books like she was preparing for a final exam. 

The two days since spotting the green flash saw a fidgety Emma, her parents, Regina, and a rotating cast of various townspeople scouring the library for answers about how to find the Flying Dutchman and anything having to do with the underworld. Emma paid no attention to specifically who else was in the library with her at any given time, but constantly felt the warmth of the large group of bodies in the enclosed space. The heat of them did plenty to warm her physically but very little to help calm her chaotic and frenzied heart. The closest to calm she managed was when she was over-gripping Killian’s ring in her hand and listening to everyone’s attempts at information gathering. 

“What about this story, Persephone in the underworld? She’s taken by Hades to be his bride and has to stay in the underworld for six months every year, one month for every pomegranate seed she ate while down there?” Regina suggested. “There could be something to that. Maybe you’re not supposed to eat anything from the underworld if you’re a living person?”

“That doesn’t help us get to Killian though,” David reminded them. “Here’s one that might help. Orpheus goes to the underworld to bring back his wife and uses his musical talent and wit to do it. He sings his way past Cerberus and wins over Persephone and Hades enough that he has a chance to bring his wife back to the land of the living.”

“They don’t make it back though David,” Regina told him. “Orpheus is supposed to walk away from the underworld and trust that his wife is following him even though there’s never a sign that she is. In the end he turns around too early before she can finish leaving the underworld and she has to go back. The only way they end up being together is in the Elysium fields.” 

“Could someone just find me something about the Dutchman? I’m not trying to go to the underworld, just the ship!” Emma complained, slamming her hands on the table. Her suddenness surprised the small group of fairies that were helping them find relevant texts and they all cast startled glances at Emma, who turned away to hide her growing guilt at her outburst.

“Sorry Emma, it’s just what we’ve pulled down so far,” Tinkerbelle explained hurriedly. When Regina had told the green fairy about Emma’s Flying Dutchman theory and that Hook might still be alive, Tinkerbelle sprang into action. She gathered up several of the other fairies and brought them with her to the library where Emma, Regina, and her parents were already neck deep in research, proclaiming that Killian had helped her leave Neverland and it was high time she returned the favor in some way. “Try this one. It’s mostly sea lore from this realm but there are a few stories from ours too.” She held the book out between them with her arms outstretched and her body leaning backwards, as if moving closer to Emma was too dangerous, even to give her a simple book. 

The silent message was clear as day. People were more than willing to help find Killian but they didn’t trust Emma anymore. She was the new specter at the feast, the new town pariah. The people of Storybrooke would glance over their shoulders and watch her movements fearfully until she proved to them that she would not go dark side again. The broken trust stung deeply, but it was a feeling Emma could deal with in the meantime, a feeling she had been on the receiving end of for most of her life. So as much as it hurt, Emma tried to push the feeling aside by throwing herself into the research necessary to find Killian, no matter if it led anywhere or not. 

She snatched the book from the fairy’s outstretched hands and ignored the way the fairy took a quick step backward at her hastiness. Instead she focused on how the leather-bound volume reminded her achingly of the veritable library in Killian’s cabin on the Jolly Roger, which only served to further remind her of him. She flipped through the pages eagerly, eyes scanning every line for something that might help her. There were stories about the Bermuda Triangle, mermaids and sirens, and more than a few about sailor superstitions. It wasn’t until she neared the end of the book that she found a reference to ghost ships and the origins of the Flying Dutchman. According to the book, in her world it was thought to be a Dutch man-o-war lost in a storm off the Cape of Good Hope that became a ghost ship doomed never to make landfall. In another version of the story the ship’s crew were killed by a hell-sent plague for some horrid crime they committed and cursed never to make landfall until they paid their penance. And in yet another telling the ship and it’s crew were raised from the depths and sold to a man looking to flee execution and a sordid past. 

She growled in frustration. How were those explanations supposed to help her find the ship? They had nothing to do with anything from the Enchanted Forest and they definitely did not help her find a way to locate the damn ship. 

While Emma was trapped in her musings and growing anger Mary Margaret burst through the front door, arms laden with overflowing bags of food. “Sorry I’m late getting back!” Mary Margaret apologized to everyone, setting the mass order of Granny’s takeout on the table amid the clutter of books and notes. “I needed to drop Neal at playgroup and Aurora was telling me about this dream she had in the netherworld fire room the other night. It sounded like one I had last night and she said something about a strange man being there too and asking her-”

“Is this story gonna help the search in any way?” Emma snapped once again, her anger boiling over. Mary Margaret flinched at her daughter’s outburst and another wave of guilt washed over Emma at the sight. “I’m sorry,” Emma muttered, hiding her face in her hands and taking what were supposed to be several calming breathes. 

“It’s alright Emma,” Her mother assured her, taking a tentative step forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. 

“I need to find him,” Emma muttered helplessly into her hands, the weight of the past two days catching up with her. 

“You will sweetie, we’ll find him together. Finding people is what we do in this family,” Her mother soothed before settling into the chair next to her and opening up a book of her own. 

Emma’s eyes glanced through her fingers and she caught sight of several fairies whispering and casting dubious looks at her. She could not hear them but she could guess easily enough what they were saying, and the continued distrust, however well earned, stung even more. Emma stood abruptly, startling everyone once again as her chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor and she stalked off to one of the empty back aisles. 

If Henry were there he would tell her that it didn’t matter what other people thought so long as she knew what was important. That finding Killian and her own happiness was more important than what anyone else said behind her back. 

She sighed. Henry wasn’t there with them. He had been holed up at Regina’s house doing his own research and refusing to even see Emma. The distrust from the townspeople she could handle, especially with the strength of her family by her side, but Henry’s continued absence left a hole in her heart that threatened to consume her in regret and self-doubt. Regina had told her that he just wasn’t ready, that he wanted time to himself first until Emma proved she was trustworthy again. Emma wondered belatedly if this was how Regina felt after the first curse was broken. 

Emma was so lost in thought walking up and down the aisles that she failed to notice anyone else in the aisle with her, and ran into the town librarian head on, sending the stack of books in the smaller woman’s arms tumbling to the ground. 

“Oof! Oh, I’m sorry Emma! Are you ok?” Belle apologized, reaching down to pick up the mess. Emma followed her to the floor, piling the books into some kind of order, when her hand brushed over a book that wasn’t like the others. 

“Um, Belle? Why do you have a book about sightseeing in Washington DC?”

“Oh Gods! I didn’t mean for anyone to see that!” Belle scrambled to cover up the travel book with a more productive looking tome about ships sunk by mermaids, but Emma’s confusion remained. 

“Are you gonna have a book delivered here from the Library of Congress or are you planning a trip?”

“The latter,” Belle admitted, a guilty blush coloring her cheeks. “Not long before Killian was taken Rumple actually told me to go out and see the world, to have the adventure I always wanted to have. Honestly, I think he was just trying to get me out of town before something terrible happened. I got as far as the town line before I came back.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at her friend. “So do you not want that adventure anymore?”

Belle’s eyes widened, as she insisted, “No, I do! It would make me so happy to finally see the world, but I don’t want to do it alone. I told Rumple that I wanted him to come with me, that the only thing that would make me happier than going on this adventure was if we could go together.”

Emma stood up slowly in awe. “Belle, wow, I mean that’s…” 

The librarian mistook Emma’s awe for hurt and was quick to stand and reassure her. “It’s not like we’d be gone forever, or even right away! We’re planning to go after we help you find the Flying Dutchman and Killian.” 

Emma’s voice failed her at Belle’s words. All she could do was smile softly at the petite woman and hope she understood how much it meant to Emma that she was putting her happy ending on hold for the search. 

They split the large pile of books between them and walked back to where the rest of the group sat at the main tables, only to find David arguing with Regina. 

“Killian’s linked to the sword now, right? I still don’t see why we can’t summon him with Excalibur or at least use Excalibur and a tracking spell to find him,” David complained, shutting his book with a heavy thud that told Emma exactly how poorly his research was going so far. 

Regina rolled her eyes. “Because it’s not a personal item of his and Gold already told us that Killian is in a realm that’s dead, or at least between realms. You can’t summon a person from another realm.”

“We summoned Cora’s spirit here,” David reminded her. “And what about the apprentice’s wand? Can’t we use that again?”

“That was just her ghost. Last time I checked we were trying to bring back a living person,” Regina rebutted. “The wand will only be helpful if we know where we’re going, and it’ll probably be useless if we’re trying to go between realms. There’s no way of even knowing which realm the Dutchman is in at any given time when it does appear.”

“Well, we know it has to go to the underworld eventually, right? But I’m guessing we can’t just use the wand to go to the underworld and back. That would be too easy?” David huffed in frustration. 

“If it were that easy people would be using the underworld for vacations,” Regina told him before heaving a sigh. “Ok, look, maybe the sword isn’t as much of a lost cause as it seems. We couldn’t summon Emma from a realm away with the dagger, but maybe the sword is different? How about I go grab the sword and I can work on it while looking for more information? What we really need though is to find some kind of pattern to the Dutchman sightings. We know there is always a green flash whenever the Dutchman travels between realms but there have to be other signs too. A rare type of cloud in the sky, a strange tint to the water, something! If we could just figure out some way of predicting the Dutchman’s next stop then maybe we could intercept it.”

David heaved a sigh. “The only thing I’ve managed to find about the location of the Dutchman is that it appears to the dead, or those who’ve seen death, no matter if they were drowned at the bottom of the ocean or killed in a shipwreck or eaten by a shark. So unless you know where a shipwreck is going to be anytime soon?”

“We have to predict a shipwreck and hope the Dutchman shows up? Peachy,” Emma deadpanned. 

“Maybe we don’t need to predict the next location ourselves,” Belle told them, thinking out loud with her eyes glued to a passage in her text. “Maybe all we need is to find someone who might know where the Dutchman is going to be.” 

“What do you mean?”

Belle hastily dropped her open book on the table and pointed to a passage regarding magical sea creatures. “The Dutchman exists on the ocean and passes between realms as needed. But it’s not the only sea-based thing that can pass between worlds,” The librarian explained. 

“Mermaids,” Mary Margaret realized. 

Belle nodded. “Yes, but not just any merfolk would know where to find a ghost ship like the Dutchman. We would need to talk to someone powerful, someone with authority over all the seas. Someone who knows what’s going on in the domain at any given time, whether that’s a great shipwreck or a massive storm.”

“Is this going where I think it is?” Emma questioned warily. 

“We need to talk to Ursula, or maybe even her father,” Belle told them definitively. 

“But she’s realms away! How are we supposed to talk to her? My cell plan doesn’t exactly cover inter-realm phone calls,” Emma complained. 

Belle pleaded with her. “I know, but Ursula and her father have to know just about everything going on in the oceans, and I have to believe that includes any Dutchman sightings. We just need to find another mermaid in town and then maybe we can send a message?” 

Mary Margaret chimed in, all too eager to add hope to the conversation. “Maybe Ariel is around town? I bet if we ask her-”

“She’s not here. She’s a realm away with Eric living out her happily ever after,” Emma spat out. She had not meant for her words to sound so bitter and jealous but she couldn’t help it. It seemed like every time she finally caught a break after saving the day some other villain would drop out of the sky and claim a vendetta that always involved mass casualties. 

“Ariel isn’t the only mermaid in existence Emma,” Regina reminded her. “Tink, could you and the fairies ask around town for-”

“A local mermaid? No problem. I’ll call you when we find someone,” Tinkerbelle answered. She and the other fairies sprang into action, gathering their things and organizing into groups to decide who would search where within the town. Emma quickly saw an opportunity closing on her, a chance to leave the library and physically do something to further the search, and stepped forward. 

“I’m coming too,” Emma insisted, hand clutching onto Killian’s ring like a totem. 

“Emma, I don’t think-” 

“I’m coming too. You all can keep reading and flipping pages if you want, but I can’t just sit here anymore. I have to do something,” She insisted.

The fairies shuffled nervously for a moment but remained silent and Emma knew they were less than thrilled at the idea of having her around. The further reality of just how little the townspeople wanted to be around her cut into Emma and she fought the urge to hunch her shoulders, which only resulted in her shoulders tensing up to her ears. 

Mary Margaret stood quickly in front of Emma with her hands gently resting on her daughter’s tense shoulders in an effort to calm her. 

“Emma, sweetie, why don’t I go with them?” Her mother suggested, although to Emma’s ears it sounded more like a royal decree than an offer. “You’ll be my first call when we find someone and I’ll send you a text every hour so you can follow our progress. Does that sound ok?”

Emma silently fumed, knowing it was probably the only way she would know what was going on with the new search but infuriated that she wouldn’t be out there doing anything. 

Mary Margaret seemed to read her mind though, and offered, “I have an idea. Why don’t you go with Regina to get Excalibur? You two will probably be able to come up with a way to use it so we can find Killian,” Mary Margaret offered, trying to placate her daughter. 

Several heartbeats passed where Emma swore everyone in the room held a collective breath at her silence, waiting on the edge of their seats for her answer, as if whatever she said would somehow dictate whether or not she would go dark again and turn them all into stone statues. She was half tempted to maintain the quiet, to torment them all further, because she recognized the suggestion for the brush off that it was. 

A smaller part of her recognized the diplomat her mother was trying to play, the peacekeeper who just wanted to take control of the situation and diffuse the tension before things could blow up in their faces. Keeping Emma content meant keeping her moving around instead of stuck in the library, but keeping the fairies calm meant separating them from Emma, and if they didn’t know exactly where Emma was then they would only be on edge and unhelpful. At least if Emma went with Regina they would know where she was and she might be able to physically do something… Possibly… 

In the end Emma finally relented, breaking the silence and freeing the group from the oppressive air she held them in. 

“Fine,” Emma conceded. She ignored the relief that passed over the faces of several younger fairies; turning to gather her things and walking out the door without another word, knowing Regina would follow after her shortly.

She heard her mother call her name, a pleading and apologetic note in her voice, but Emma never turned around. She shoved the doors open and stomped a short ways on the sidewalk before coming to a halt. 

“I’ll call you when we’re headed back!” Regina called back into the library, knotting a scarf around her neck and joining Emma on the sidewalk, sending her an expectant look. 

“We’re not poofing there this time,” Emma insisted. She stomped forward, needing the physical movement to stave off her earlier melancholy. 

The momentum of moving meant she was doing something and in her mind that meant she was that much closer to getting Killian back. But, only minutes into their trek across town, Emma found herself wishing she had asked Regina to transport them straight to the vault after all. The main street was filled with people, all of whom cowered at the sight of Emma and only relaxed again when they saw Regina. Emma thought once again of the role reversal that had occurred between them since the first curse, and forced her eyes to the pavement. Looking at the ground was better than catching the eyes of the townspeople who now feared her, not to mention the gray of the pavement so closely matched her souring mood. 

Things only improved slightly when the gray pavement in town transitioned to the green grass of the lonely cemetery as the pair arrived at Regina’s vault. With no one to hide from Emma felt a little better lifting her head up, well enough to enter the vault with Regina to grab Excalibur. Once the sword was retrieved from its hiding place, with Regina thankfully maneuvering around the protection spell this time, they left the vault for Regina’s house.

“I have some potions there that might help us, and a few spell books with incantations that could be rearranged to suit our needs… Possibly,” Regina explained after sending a message to Mary Margaret and David, updating them on their plans. 

Emma’s heart tightened as they walked, not at Regina’s cynical words, but at the prospect of whom she might see at the house when they arrived. Would Henry be there, she silently wondered? Would he want to see her? She missed her son, missed his endless optimism and belief. And while Regina had told her before that he wasn’t ready to see her it didn’t stop Emma from wanting to see him. But she was so afraid of that future encounter. Afraid that Henry would take one look at her and realize he was better off without her, that he would decide he never wanted to see her ever again no matter what she did to prove herself to him. Worse still, she was afraid there would be nothing she could do to get him back at all, just as the chances of her seeing Killian again were ever-dwindling with every impossible rescue plan. 

Regina noticed the wide-eyed look of hope and fear in Emma’s face and her mouth flattened uncomfortably, realizing the other woman’s thoughts were likely leading her to their son. 

“Henry’s not there. He went to a friend’s house for the afternoon,” She added, seeing the further conflict on her friend’s face.

Emma shook her head and blinked back the wetness she hadn’t realized was gathering in the corners of her eyes. “No, I get it, it’s um… It’s probably for the best right now,” She replied weakly. Regina didn’t look convinced, and a strange and contemplative look came over her as she stared at Emma, who crossed her arms tightly and took a shaky breath as she continued. “I know using Excalibur as a tracking tool probably won’t work, and we might not find another mermaid in town to get our message to Ursula, and there’s a million ways we won’t probably be able to do this at all but…”

“When have impossible odds ever stopped us before?” Regina finished with the beginnings of a smile. “Not to parrot your mother, but wherever Killian is we will find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys seriously have no idea how excited I am about some of the potential plot lines that are coming for 5b (It’s actually something I’ve been thinking about since we learned the basics of Hook’s childhood origins back in S3, but the last episodes were just icing on the cake for my head canon! More on that in coming chapters.)! Some of those head canons have already made their way into this fic, or at least into the chapter plotlines I have written out (Not all of them, but some of them). 
> 
> Additional note about this chapter, I deliberately have Belle including a magic-free Gold in her travel plans for several reasons. Most of those reasons revolve around not wanting to see them fall back into the issues that have plagued their relationship for so long (Rumple’s need for power/control and Belle feeling like she has to constantly pick up the pieces being just a few.). I understand the writers probably need Gold to have magic for some reason in 5b, but it’s mostly just frustrating to watch their characters seemingly go backwards after everything that’s happened. 
> 
> Anywho, that’s my logic and for this story I’m sticking with it. Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m alive!!!! Back from the nothingness of reality to update this fic! Again, constantly in awe of the response this story has received. Thanks so much for the support even in my absence!
> 
> Disclaimer: Totally not mine, just borrowing.

Hook had long ceased attempting to keep track of time aboard the Flying Dutchman through conventional means. There were no sunrises or sunsets, and the constant day-lit grey of the world outside blotted out any chance of seeing the stars, assuming there were any to be seen in the first place. He tried listening for the movements of the crew on deck, hoping to catch the scuttle of activity that always came with shift changes in certain areas of the ship, but counting out seconds between those changes proved fruitless when he discovered the shift changes were both longer and shorter than any he could recall from his days on the Jolly Roger or even the Jewel of the Realm.

Were the Dutchman’s crew under his command he would never have tolerated such disorderly conduct. 

Despite the lack of timeliness on the Dutchman Hook’s gut told him that they weren’t making any measurable progress anywhere, and that the ship was waiting for something. Whatever it was likely had to do with what Davy had been speaking with his guest about some time before. Killian had a sinking suspicion he knew who the guest in question was, and it did little to comfort him that whatever the Dutchman was waiting for was inevitably connected with her. 

In the meantime, he spent far longer than he would have liked picking the locks of the squid ink cuffs currently restraining him in Davy’s quarters. The restraints were giving him more trouble than he’d had picking locks in some time, and he cursed his lack of recent practice for the slowness. 

At least he didn’t have to hear the Dark Swan mocking his efforts, however much he missed seeing his Swan’s lovely form. Even in the guise of the Dark One, the sight of Emma Swan never failed to spur him to action. But ever since he woke with the cuffs on, the dark hallucination had been surprisingly absent. Hook wondered if that was due to the squid ink dampening his newfound magic, but found he didn’t particularly care whether or not the magic was usable to him. He had survived centuries without it and for all that the Dark Swan spoke of using the darkness to finally take his revenge Hook found he didn’t want to have to rely on another’s assistance for the task. It was, after all, his revenge, and he wouldn’t have anyone mucking it up for him. The darkness was just a tool in his vengeance. If he had access to the dark magic then he would use it, and if not, he’d get by without it, same as always. He had seen what fixating on the darkness’s power did to the Crocodile and he wasn’t keen to follow that obsession. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t heed the Dark Swan’s advice about taking control of the Dutchman and using it for his own ends, he just wouldn’t do it by relying on a dark magic that he had no practice controlling. 

His fingers twisted and turned, gently teasing the lock of the cuff with the pin he’d kept hidden in his sleeve. Old habits died hard, especially those born from centuries of practice. If Emma knew he’d kept not only several of her hair pins in his sleeves but also several daggers hidden under his new clothes in addition to that ridiculous talking phone device, Killian was sure she would have given him a tongue lashing before asking just how he’d done it without her notice. 

Hook’s blood ran south as he imagined the very thorough search he would have suggested she give him to find those mysterious fares. The way her fingers might creep along his chest as they slid downward, her mouth following after…

His fingers paused at the thought. It was the first time he had really thought of his Emma since realizing he was the new Dark One, since deciding to take up his vengeance once more. A dying part of him screamed dimly that Emma wouldn’t want this for him, that she would tell him to let the past stay in the past where it wouldn’t hurt his future. That revenge wasn’t worth losing himself again. Hook shoved those thoughts aside. Revenge was precisely how he would find himself again. The darkness was as much a part of him as the hook that gave him his moniker; the Dark Swan had been right about that much. He was no simpering pup following meekly after a hero, he was Captain bloody Hook and he would take what he wanted from the world, starting with the Flying Dutchman and his vengeance against Davy Jones.

With renewed vigor he worked to free himself from the restraints, fingers twisting the metal pin deftly in the cuffs overhead. Hook was determined to free himself and take over the Dutchman. The sooner he redoubled his efforts of revenge, the sooner the pitifully hopeful voice in the depths of his mind would be silenced. 

A faint click and tug loosened the cuffs on his wrists, and with a triumphant grin Hook sat up quickly to free his ankles of their similar bindings. Once that was done he stood from the bed and snatched his hook from the shelf where it gleamed and beckoned even in the dull light. Sliding the hook back into his wrist brace felt like being born anew, a return to his true and darker self. With the squid ink cuffs removed, the Dark One’s magic edged its way back to the forefront of his awareness, and Hook did nothing to stop the power from making its way down his arms and around the room, bouncing off of furniture and fixtures. Several times the darkness gravitated toward a small chest that was no bigger than a music box, pulled there by some powerful magic inside. Hook opened the box’s lid and was surprised to find a small cache of what looked like magic beans. They would have resembled the portal-making legumes more closely if not for the dark and glistening sheen that covered them, a sheen not dissimilar to moonlight on a darkened sea. 

Hook pocketed several of the beans. Perhaps it was a special type of magic bean, one that might allow him access to new realms or one that might allow repeated uses? He would have to ask the Dark Swan if she knew it’s true purpose, once she reappeared. 

Deciding there was little else of use to him inside the cabin, he let his grin turn toothy and his eyes turn stormy as he set his sights on the cabin door, intent on making his presence known as he took over the ship. 

It was just his luck, however, that the lock on the door clicked from the other side and the knob began to turn. 

Hook quickly moved to stand behind the door, wanting to get the drop on whoever walked into the cabin, and took one of the heavy candlesticks from the nearby table in hand to do so. He wanted the entering man to be Davy Jones, if only for the pleasure of knocking the bastard out the way he was knocked out earlier, but decided there would be plenty of time to wring out a true punishment for the man later after taking the ship. So it was with no small amount of satisfaction that Hook saw the man entering the room was decidedly not Davy Jones, but someone much smaller, almost mouse-like in appearance and posture. His nose twitched erratically in time with the skittish fidgeting of his fingers, as if he were looking for something to pilfer but restraining himself from doing so. The slight man would have looked terrified of the very air around him if not for the dulled glaze in his eyes that likely kept him from expressing much emotion at all. 

Something about the man’s skittishness, so at odds with his blank demeanor, kept Hook from delivering the blow. There was a familiarity to it, something long forgotten in the course of his centuries spent at sea. Perhaps he had seen the man while capturing a vessel and had been the one to kill him? No, that wasn’t quite it. Hook knew this man somehow, and in more than the fleeting capacity of a vessel capture. Whatever it was tickled the edges of Hook’s memories and allowed the mouse-like man the time to close the door behind him, locking both of them in cabin. 

When the mouse-man finally turned to face the bed and noticed Hook missing from it, he hardly batted an eyelash, a response that left Hook off balance and confused. Shouldn’t the man be raising the alarm at the disappearance, Hook thought? He briefly wondered at the overall competence of the Dutchman’s crew if they were not only untimely, but also unresponsive to missing prisoners. 

Perhaps Hook would simply have to replace them with his own crew of the damned, once the ship was his. 

The mouse-man’s dull eyes glanced around the room until they landed on Hook standing behind the door, candlestick in hand and hook gleaming. But the only reaction the man gave to the strangeness of Hook’s current location was a brief widening of his eyes before they closed again to a half-lidded stare. 

Silence stretched between them as Hook tried to decide whether it was worth learning the man’s identity and therefore the source of his familiarity. The nagging sensation of knowing in his mind pushed Hook’s mouth to form the words before the sensible part of him thought to restrain such notions with a blow from the candlestick. 

“Don’t I know you?” Hook asked. 

“Cap’n says I’m s’posed to watch ya,” The crewman explained, not answering Hook’s inquiry. 

“And he chose you for this task? Above all others on this accursed vessel?” 

“I volunteered. Someone’s to keep an eye on ya,” The man supplied.

Hook snorted at that. “A brave heart, then? Is that what led you down here, or a fool’s errand?”

The man shifted on his feet, his discomfort apparent even through his deadeye stare. He spoke quickly, as if afraid of being overheard. “Cap’n don’t know it, but I recognize ya. Figured ya might know where from.”

“And why would you want to know the origins of our potential familiarity?” Hook questioned. Surely any encounter this mouse-man might have had with him was best left forgotten?

“Just wanna know,” The man tried to say with an air of finality that fell short. Under Hook’s heavy stare the man quickly added, “Ya forget things ‘ere, on the Dutchman. We work, do our jobs, and lil’ by lil’ forget where we come from, all the wrong we did before. S’not unpleasant or nothin’. S’like waves cleaning footprints on the beach. It don’t ‘appen all at once, but ‘fore you know it, one day you just forget why you tie your knots a certain way, or why you’ve got that scar.”

“And you don’t want Davy Jones knowing you’re curious?”

“No sir,” The man insisted quickly with a shake of his head. His eyes narrowed in confusion at the addition of the title while Hook’s eyes narrowed in interest at the admission. 

Sir, was it? And the man had something he didn’t want Davy Jones knowing? Hook could use that. If there were discontent and secrets being kept from Davy Jones perhaps Hook wouldn’t need to force his way into claiming the ship, he could win it with the help of the crew, incompetent though they may be. And if he provided an answer to the man in front of him and earned his loyalty he would be a step closer to an easy take-over of the Dutchman. If one crewman could be turned, so could the others. 

Allowing himself a chance to look the man over, Hook could admit that there was more to the man’s familiarity than just his face and fidgeting mannerisms. The clothes on his back were centuries old, torn and dirtied to a bloody brown and grey. If Hook thought back far enough to his memories of the uniforms from the Jewel of the Realm he could recognize bits and pieces of the man’s outfit that might have matched. But surely that was impossible? Even among the souls of the dead and damned there was no reason the gods would see fit to give him a glimpse of an old crewman, especially not one from so early in Hook’s sea-faring career. 

But that ‘sir’ slip…

“The Red Rat. Petty Officer Sprague,” Killian recalled, the name rolling off his tongue easily as he let his instincts guide him. “Indeed I do remember you. Your fingers were sticky and light and you had a nasty habit of inciting violence in whichever port I had you thieving in. Makes me wonder if you weren’t always meant to turn pirate.”

Sprague nodded in memory, his eyes still glazed but heavier now, as though a weight had been returned to him. “And you’re Lieutenant Jones, if I recall…”

“Captain Hook, if you’ll rightly recall,” Hook hissed, shoving aside the nagging voice in his head that recoiled at the moniker. “Now what’s this about forgetting things? Your memories are stolen from you?”

Sprague shrugged. “Only those tha’ trouble us, sir. I still remember me first days on the Jewel, but the more I work on the Dutchman the more I seem to forget what ‘appened after we went to Neverlan’.” Sprague frowned and rubbed the spot over his heart. “Why’ve I got this scar on me chest, sir?”

It was unwitting penance, Hook realized, not answering the man’s query. Years of service aboard the Dutchman served as recompense for the dead. The deceased worked through their more guilt-ridden memories, whatever kept them from moving to the afterlife, but were allowed the gift of retaining their more pleasant memories. Hook assumed once the deceased were essentially cleansed of their guilt they were permitted to move onward, and he wondered if that was a known ambition for the souls, if they even knew what they were working toward. 

Hook fought back a smirk, a plan forming in his mind of precisely how he was going to use Sprague and this penance system to gain control of the ship. 

“Tell me this, Mr. Sprague, your loyalties are with the ship, with the Flying Dutchman?” Hook questioned, already suspecting the answer.

“Aye, with the ship, sir. The work we do is important,” Thompson answered easily, automatically. 

Good, Hook thought. It would be easier to wrest control from Davy Jones if the crew were more loyal to their posts than their captain, although it did give Hook another reason to want to replace the entire crew as soon as he was able. “Do you know why that work is important Mr. Sprague?”

The slight man frowned at this, his face scrunching in confusion and searching for a memory Hook was fairly certain didn’t exist. “Just is,” Sprague tried to answer. He didn’t sound fully convinced of his own words, no matter that they were pulled from him as though by magic. 

“That scar on your chest is from a blade piercing your flesh. The blade was meant for me but you took it in my stead,” Hook told him honestly, answering the earlier question. “You died on the Jolly’s deck not long after that battle.”

“I died protectin’ ya?” Sprague questioned, a curious and somehow lighter look in his eyes.

“Your death meant I lived,” Hook told him, omitting certain details about Sprague’s knowledge of the blade’s presence at the time. 

Hook’s words did the trick, and Sprague’s posture loosened a fraction. The man stood a fraction taller, his eyes were a little less glazed over, and Hook fought back a knowing smirk. 

“You feel that lightness, Mr. Sprague? That’s closure. As you mentioned before, the longer you work on the Dutchman the more your unsavory memories go missing, and that lightness is what remains. A lovely feeling, isn’t it? Almost addictive, especially when you know where it’s come from?”

Sprague nodded, his still blank features practically gleaming with lightness. 

Hook slowly placed the candlestick holder back onto the shelf and chose his next words carefully. “Your service on the Dutchman is no accident. I believe you were chosen for it, because you’re quite right, the work you do here is important. It provides closure and frees you of the burdensome weight of your past. That’s your duty on this ship, to work toward closure and justice not only for yourself, but for others too.” 

Sprague glanced up at Hook. “Others? I can help others like I helped you?” 

Hook nodded in reassurance. “There’s work of mine that needs finishing, needs closure, and I can’t do it alone. You were right. Our pasts are linked. And by helping me find closure I can help you find more closure as well. Help me to help you. Help me achieve closure, justice, and together we can free you of the onerous weight of your past. Would you help me with this work?”

“Aye, sir,” Sprague’s answer was resolute and his hands ceased their fidgeting as he spoke. 

Hook let loose a toothy grin that rivaled Rumplestiltskin’s darkest years. “Well then, Mr. Sprague, it would appear we have some work to do.”

/-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=/

True to her word Mary Margaret had updated Emma every hour on the progress of the search for another mermaid in town, and several hours after the search began Mary Margaret called Emma to tell her of their success. The mermaid was sent with a message for Ursula, and while Emma had hoped for a speedy reply, Regina had cautioned her friend about the potential wait. 

“We can’t just assume she’ll know where Ursula is. She has to find her first, has to be able to speak with her and share the message, and then Ursula has to decide for herself whether to come or not,” Regina reminded her, to Emma’s annoyance. 

The potential wait hadn’t stopped Emma from wanting to be as close to the water as possible in case Ursula showed up to Storybrooke in the middle of the night, so she slept in Killian’s cabin on the Jolly Roger. Wrapped up in his long leather coat she could at least surround herself in the smell and presence of him, which allowed her a little more grief but also a little more sleep. 

The next morning Emma was woken by her parents calling for her from the ship’s deck overhead, telling her they’d brought some breakfast and asking if she wanted to watch the ocean for Ursula with them at the docks? Emma knew that they probably hadn’t wanted her to spend another night alone and away from them, but she was grateful that they had let her anyway. As much as she wanted to rejoin her family and the life she had built for herself in Storybrooke she couldn’t just jump back in. If the reactions of Tinkerbelle and the other fairies were anything to go by then the town wouldn’t let her. Not yet. 

Emma managed to pull herself free of Killian’s jacket but allowed herself the continued comfort of the compass in her pocket as she made her way to meet her parents. Sitting next to her parents and baby brother was a special kind of torture. Every shared look between Mary Margaret and David, every gurgle or thoughtlessly delighted chortle from Neal, they all left a dull ache in Emma, a longing for the happiness and life that were constantly ripped from her no matter how tightly she held on. 

Several times one of her parents would be called away briefly to deal with town business, leaving Neal in Emma’s care. It hadn’t really occurred to Emma until then that her parents and friends had likely been sharing most of her Savior and sheriff duties. It also hadn’t occurred to her that they trusted her enough to leave Neal with her, even after her stint as the Dark One. The realization that even if she couldn’t rejoin the town yet she still had people who trusted her and loved her made Emma both grateful and guilty. She shoved the feelings aside as best she could, not wanting the baby in her arms to see her distress. Neal managed to crack his sister’s dour demeanor a few times, mostly by gesturing with excited and curious hands at the various ships nearby. Emma explained them all to him as best as she could, going into as much detail about the parts of the ships as she remembered Killian teaching her, her voice catching in memory as she did.

Morning soon closed in on noon and it was fast time for Neal’s nap. Regina showed up just as Mary Margaret and David were getting ready to go, leaving Emma more than a little suspicious that the trio had coordinated the trade off of who would sit with her waiting for Ursula. 

That switch off had been several hours ago, and Emma and Regina had since settled into inconsistent conversation. Neither was quite sure what to say to fill the time, and the start-stop of topics was awkward and stilted. Emma lamely commented on the weather, the continued cloudiness and overall clammy dreariness of the day. Regina simply nodded, agreeing the day wasn’t the brightest but at least it hadn’t rained yet. Regina then tried describing her continued efforts with Excalibur that morning after their fruitless efforts the day before but Emma only grunted out monosyllables in growing impatience. The failed conversations and day wore on, and still there was no sign of Ursula. Part of Emma was convinced the sea witch was purposefully screwing with them, making them wait so long just to gloat, and she had to remind herself that Ursula wouldn’t do that. 

Well, probably wouldn’t. Old Ursula might have, but new Ursula was a different matter and Emma needed to have faith in the woman’s desire to change. Just like she needed to have faith that the townspeople would one day accept her again, and in the mermaid delivering their message to Ursula.

Emma frowned in thought, and questioned, “Ok wait, what was the mermaid’s name again? The one we sent with the message?” 

Regina shrugged helplessly next to her on the bench. “I don’t remember. Something starting with an ‘A’, Andrina or Alara or something of that nature. She’s one of Ariel’s sisters and she was nice enough to pass our message to Ursula.”

“Out of the goodness of her heart?” Emma asked skeptically. 

“Out of gratitude for Hook’s part in her sister’s happy ending, or so she told Mary Margaret yesterday,” Regina informed her. Emma bit her lip at the mention of happy endings, and focused her eyes on the waves lapping against the docks. Regina noticed her discomfort and added, “She’ll come Emma. If Tinkerbelle helped us because of what Hook did for her, then I know Ursula will help too, however she can. Killian’s part of the reason she and her father could start making amends.”

“Doesn’t make waiting any easier,” Emma replied with a forced smile. Her thoughts drifted to Henry and the reconciliation that still had to happen between them. She was scared to know how he was doing, what thoughts swirled in his head when he thought of her. Had he spoken to anyone about his fears or thoughts? Would he ever want to speak with her again, or had she royally screwed any chance of being part of his life? Emma knew she couldn’t live without having Henry in her life any more than she could live without Killian. Both of her boys had burrowed their way into her heart and their absence left a gaping hole she had no hope of filling on her own. 

Emma held back a snort at that. For someone who had spent so much of her life alone she had definitely built more than her fair share of attachments since coming to Storybrooke, and she had her work cut out for her if she wanted them all back.

After another beat of silence Emma gathered her courage and dared to ask, “How’s Henry?” 

“He’s ok, he’s um…” Regina’s automatic reply trailed off and her mouth twisted in consideration. Emma could see the thoughts whirring in her friend’s mind as she decided how much to reveal. “He’s getting there,” Regina told her honestly. 

“Is he sleeping ok? Eating enough? Has he talked to you, or anyone?” Emma’s worried questions burst out. At Regina’s hesitance to elaborate Emma added, “He’s my son too, Regina. I just wanna know he’s doing all right.”

She saw the moment Regina caved; saw it in the fractional lowering of her shoulders and easing of her tense jaw. Emma held back a smile at the sight. “He wanted to see Archie this morning,” Regina told her. 

“He did?” Emma’s reply was wary but hopeful. Wanting to see Archie hadn’t always been a good sign in the past but at least Henry was talking to someone. And that could only be a good thing, right?

Regina nodded. “We’ll see how that goes but I’m sure we can both agree that Henry looking to talk about what happened is a good sign. Henry also mentioned having a strange dream last night. He was in the netherworld fire room and a man he didn’t recognize was in there who had never been put under a sleeping curse.”

“But people can’t go into that room unless they’ve been woken from a sleeping curse,” Emma pointed out.

“Which is why I thought it was just a dream when Henry told me, not the actual fire room. But Henry was sure he was in the room and he wanted a second opinion, so he’s going to see Gold after he meets with Archie. It’s probably nothing to worry about,” Regina said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Something about their son’s netherworld encounter didn’t sit well with Emma but she held her tongue, knowing that without proof there wasn’t much she could do to convince anyone. “I’m more worried about how he’s going to make up his homework assignments from the six weeks we were all in Camelot though,” Regina added.

Emma easily recognized the shift in conversation Regina was making, moving the conversation away from Henry’s emotional state to something more mundane. Emma assumed Henry had asked Regina not to tell Emma too much, or as was more likely the case, that Regina didn’t want to tell Emma too much for fear of breaking her son’s trust. The sting of that realization was minor compared to the thought of not having Henry back at all, so Emma let it slide and let Regina move the conversation to their mutual interest of Henry’s schoolwork and the toll that adventures with frequent villains took on his education and semblance of a normal life. It was as comfortable a conversation as Emma had been able to manage since Killian’s disappearance, but when a flash of light burst from the water Emma didn’t bother hiding her eagerness. 

“Regina look!” She jumped from the bench and raced to the end of the dock, where the water swirled and foamed. It bubbled into a fountain that rose to a level with the wooden structure, and at the top of the watery spire sat Ursula, who stepped gracefully onto the docks with aplomb. 

The sea witch was as imposing a figure as ever, but there was lightness and life to her now that was more akin to a lively coral reef instead of the stormy squall she seemed to carry with her before. Where her mouth was once tipped in a devilish sneer it now quirked upward in casual confidence. And she had traded her darkened modern clothes for what Emma assumed was the latest fashion craze in the undersea kingdom, clamping shells onto her tentacles and draping garlands of coral and pearls through her hair. 

“Regina, didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon,” Ursula noted, floating forward. 

“Ursula, you look well,” Regina greeted. “How’re the oceans?”

“Ever-changing, as always.” 

“We need your help,” Emma interrupted, dispelling the niceties. “We need to find the Flying Dutchman.”

“So I was told,” Ursula bit out, displeased at the interruption. “Alana told me what she knew of the situation but I was hoping for a few more details…”

“And you’ll get them,” Regina replied. “Just as soon as-” Regina’s phone rang to life, cutting her off. “It’s Henry.” She noticed the sudden longing in Emma’s features and shot her an apologetic look before quietly stepping aside to take the call. 

Ursula turned to Emma expectantly. “You know I have no more knowledge of exactly where the Dutchman is going to be at any given time than you do?”

Emma shoved aside the sharp pang at the disheartening words. “We don’t need you to tell us exactly where the ship is, just where it’s most likely gonna be.” Emma explained Belle’s theory about predicting the next shipwreck at sea and wanting to intercept the Dutchman as it collected the souls of the dead. Ursula nodded in understanding, muttering a quiet ‘Clever girl’ under her breath at Belle’s ingenuity. 

“Say I do find a shipwreck for you and say the Dutchman happens to be there. How are you going to get there if it’s in another realm? I can’t bring any of you with me when I cross realms,” Ursula reminded Emma. 

“Regina’s already taken care of the realm crossing problem and we’re sailing the Jolly Roger there,” Emma told her definitively, not mentioning that the realm crossing would be done via the apprentice’s wand. They couldn’t use it to travel to the underworld but other realms were well within the wand’s abilities. “The ship’s made of enchanted wood so we wouldn’t even need a whole crew to man it.”

Ursula raised a skeptical brow. “You’ll need at least a few people who know what they’re doing on that ship, honey. I’d hate to see the captain’s ship join him in the afterlife.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed at the sea witch, her anger rising at the woman’s continued questioning. “Killian taught me and my son to sail, and he’s a damn good teacher. We’ll get wherever we need to go, just point us in the right direction.”

The pearl-bedecked woman looked down at her from an upraised chin and an unreadable gaze. A heavy silence filled the air between them and Emma could feel Ursula’s probing stare testing her, measuring her fortitude, and she fought not to shrink under the scrutiny. The woman may not have been a villain anymore but some habits, like intimidation techniques, clearly died hard. 

Ursula’s features remained hard but neutral when she finally spoke. “Let’s get one thing straight before I do anything. The only reason I’m helping at all is because I owe Killian Jones a debt and this will make us even. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Emma replied. 

At her answer Ursula’s features simultaneously lightened and solidified, a combination Emma had never known was possible to see in a person. Ursula’s eyes crinkled at the corners, matching the upward tilt of her mouth and brightening her face of the stormy demeanor Emma was so accustomed to seeing in the sea witch. But the powerful stance with which she stood on the docks, hands on her hips and head still held high, gave her a distinct air of authority that was inspiring now instead of intimidating, and gave Emma hope in Ursula’s ability to help them. “Good. Then I’ll need a few items to get started. First, find me a looking glass and some maps of the Enchanted Forest, specifically maps of-”

“How the hell can it be gone?!” Regina’s screams cut through whatever Ursula was about to say and both she and Emma flinched at Regina’s volume. “And the three of you checked everywhere? All the wards are still in place? Yes? Fine, wait for me there. I’m heading back.”

A ball of dread formed in Emma’s gut. “Regina?”

“Excalibur’s gone. Stolen from my warded basement.” Regina’s face paled as she spoke and rejoined them at the end of the dock. 

“Excalibur? You have Excalibur here?” Ursula’s asked in disbelief. “Regina, honey, this is one of those details I would’ve liked to know before coming here.” 

“Please tell me it was one of Arthur’s leftover goons,” Emma seethed, her voice grim but aflame, heated with the promise of retribution for whomever took the sword from under their noses. The hope from Ursula’s arrival was fast fading into a desire to find the Camelot residents responsible and make them pay. “Tell me it was one of those magically rufi’d thugs and that they’re just in the woods and we can go get the sword back.”

“As if anyone from Camelot apart from Merlin could get past my warding,” Regina bit out, insulted at the notion of being bested by witless pawns acting on orders. “Our Camelot guests haven’t left their campsite in the woods since Arthur was ousted except to spend time at the Rabbit Hole or Granny’s. They have no leadership apart from Guinevere and the remaining Knights of the Round Table, splintered as they all are. There’s no way any of them were organized enough to take the sword.” 

Ursula was still staring at Emma and Regina in bewilderment. “You have Excalibur and the people of Camelot just running rampant and leaderless through your town? It’s no wonder you could never hold the Enchanted Forest together as queen, Regina. You’re letting people walk all over you with their own conflicts. What exactly happened after I left?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Regina fumed. “It’s nothing you’ll have to deal with, I assure you.”

“It had better not be. Just don’t let it bleed into my oceans. I’m here to settle my debt with Hook, not your power struggle with a broken kingdom,” Ursula told her.

“We’re coming with you to look for clues, Regina,” Emma insisted, refocusing the group. “We need Excalibur to get the darkness out of Killian.” 

Ursula turned to Emma at her mention of darkness, eyes wide and mouth silently agape. Regina’s face twisted in discomfort and inner conflict, a struggle that was short-lived in her own desire to check on Henry as soon as possible. “You don’t speak to Henry unless he wants to talk to you,” Regina affirmed, dark eyes fixing heavily on Emma. 

“Fine.”

With a flick of her wrist Regina’s magic enveloped them, and the nauseous dread that accompanied Emma’s recent exposure to magic returned. She shut her eyes but couldn’t entirely force the ill feeling aside as they landed on the street in front of Regina’s house. The haze of purple smoke cleared and through it Emma saw the outline of her son coming out the open door, the sight clearing her discomfort instantly. 

Henry didn’t look nearly as pleased to see her though, if the way his entire body froze into a statue was anything to go by. 

Regina raced forward and barreled into Henry, blocking his view of Emma. Her hands flew to his shoulders and her eyes raked over him, searching for any injury. Henry brushed her hands aside. “Mom, I’m fine. Belle and Gold are still inside looking for more clues on how the guy got in and out.”

Regina’s eyes narrowed at her son. “You know who took Excalibur?”

“It was the guy from the netherworld fire room last night. It had to be. He kept asking about Excalibur and where it was. But I didn’t say anything about the sword, I promise!” Henry insisted. “He wouldn’t tell me anything about himself either, except that he’d never been under a sleeping curse.”

Realization hit Emma hard. “Mary Margaret had the same dream the other night. She said Aurora did too, about a weird guy they didn’t recognize asking questions.”

Regina’s head whipped around to glare at Emma, who had forgotten all about not speaking to Henry unless he talked to her first. Henry’s face fell at her words. “And he only got to the sword after he talked with me. I probably led him right to it without having to say anything,” He realized. 

Emma ached to push away the downcast demeanor on her son’s face, and forced her arms around herself in an effort to keep from racing forward to take Henry in her arms. 

“Henry don’t do that to yourself. This isn’t your fault,” Regina tried to reassure him, a soothing hand on his head. 

Henry scoffed. “It might as well be. I couldn’t stop the sailor from taking the sword and I couldn’t stop my mom from wanting to use Excalibur on me or actually using it on Killian. What’s the point of being the Author if I’m this weak? If I’d been stronger I could’ve done something and none of this would be happening now.”

Emma flinched at her son’s words, at the reminder of what had led them to this point. It wasn’t Henry’s fault. It was hers. If she hadn’t tried to turn Henry into a Dark One then Killian would never have needed to jump in the way and he’d still be here. Then again, if she had never been a Dark One at all there would never have been an encounter on the Jolly Roger’s deck, and if there had been no Dark One’s in the first place… 

Emma’s shoulders sagged. Going backwards in time to find blame wasn’t going to solve anything. It wasn’t going to bring Killian back and it wasn’t going to help Emma repair her relationship with her son. Nor was it going to explain just where Excalibur had been taken in the mere hours it was left unattended. 

Ursula spoke up from where she stood next to a brooding Emma at the end of the walkway. “What makes you so sure this mystery interloper was a sailor?” She questioned.

If Henry was surprised to see the sea witch there, he hid it well. “He smelled like the ocean and like he hadn’t showered in forever,” Henry said, nose wrinkling in memory. “And his clothes kinda looked like some of the things Killian’s crew wore when they first got here. The really old shirts and pants that were kinda out of date even by Enchanted Forest standards?”

Ursula nodded in understanding and Emma’s thoughts caught up. “So if he’d never been under a sleeping curse and if he was a sailor dressed like he was from the old Enchanted Forest, does that mean-”

“He was a ghost, Miss Swan,” Gold interrupted, stepping out of Regina’s house with Belle close behind. 

Ursula visibly tensed at Gold’s appearance, an angry furrow coming to her brow, and Emma rushed to reassure their part-time ally before any conflict could erupt, as it inevitably would. “He doesn’t have magic anymore Ursula. He’s not the Dark One anymore,” Emma told her, ignoring Gold’s glare. Gold clearly didn’t like Emma revealing his weakened state and lack of power, but Emma didn’t particularly care what Gold did or didn’t like at that moment. She cared more that Ursula, the woman who could help her find Killian, was appeased. 

“You don’t know what he’s capable of, even without magic,” Ursula warned, sharp eyes never wavering from Gold’s tense features.

Gold ignored Ursula’s cryptic words even as he refused to move any closer to the group, remaining standing on the elevated front step. “Our dreamscape trespasser was a ghost, and likely one of the crew of the Flying Dutchman.”

That caught Emma’s attention and her head whipped toward the former Dark One.

“How can you possibly know that?” Regina demanded. 

Belle was quick to defend her husband’s assertion. “Spirits can travel between the realms, especially in dreams. The netherworld fire room is a realm within dreams brought about by waking from a deathlike sleep. It’s the perfect way for a spirit to make contact with the living without having to be summoned.” 

Regina waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t explain how they got in and out of my house without the wards alerting me, or why it’s a crewman from the Dutchman that took the sword. Why couldn’t it be some other ghost?”

Belle added, “The warding probably didn’t take ghosts into account. No one thinks of needing to defend against ghosts, just the living. And since ghosts can travel through dreams he might even have been able to transport the sword through someone’s midday nap.”

“And the Dutchman theory?”

Gold shot Regina an odd look with an upturned eyebrow. “Really dearie? The timing of all this isn’t the least bit suspect to you? We’ve established that the captain is the new Dark One and that he’s likely on the Flying Dutchman. What other spirits would try to take the sword if not the crew of the very ship he’s captive on?”

“I can think of a few…” Regina muttered darkly. 

“I’d be more worried about why someone from the Dutchman took the sword in the first place,” Henry interrupted, still sullen from his earlier musings. “They can do a lot of damage with that sword, especially with a Dark One to use it on.”

Emma’s eyes landed back on her son and shivered at the implications of his suggestion. If Excalibur still held most of its properties from when it was just the Dark One dagger then there was a very good chance whoever took Killian onto the Dutchman wanted to use it to control him, and wanting to control a Dark One never ended well.

Emma refused to even consider the possibility of someone using the sword to kill him and take the Dark One’s powers for themselves. The thought alone was enough to turn her stomach and make her visibly shudder.

“Whatever the reason for the sword theft it does tell us something very important,” Gold said, pulling their attention to him. “It means Killian Jones is still the Dark One and in all likelihood still aboard the Dutchman.”

“And it means there’s still time to find Killian before the ship reaches the underworld,” Emma noted, forcing her resolve front and center. 

Ursula’s disbelief boiled over. “I’m gone a few weeks and the Savior’s boyfriend is the new Dark One? Alana told me he was still alive somehow and aboard the Flying Dutchman but this is just unbelievable. Once my debt with Jones is cleared I never want to get involved with any of you again,” Ursula affirmed. “Now find me a looking glass so I can find the Dutchman and Jones and get out of here.”

“I just so happened to have a looking glass in my shop, if you’d be so kind as to join me, dearie?” Gold sneered, finally stepping forward and sauntering down the walkway. 

Ursula scoffed at that, but followed after him. “Of course you’d be the one to have it. And Savior? I need maps of the northern coast of the Enchanted Forest. I’ll bet your boyfriend has a few copies on his ship,” She called out to Emma.

“You’re sure that’s where the Dutchman will be?” Emma asked, wondering how Ursula could have picked out such a place from among all the possible realms.

“No, but it’ll go back there eventually. Trust me on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about that 100th episode? Still excited about it! It’ll be really cool to see where they go with all the characters in 5b (I have predictions but I’m holding out.).
> 
> Again, massive apologies about the time lapse in updates to any of my fics! You’ve all been nothing but supportive even in my absence and it means the world to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Read, Review, and spread the word hummingbirds.


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